Glimpses of Hermione
by LJ Summers
Summary: The home of American Pureblood Hermione from chapters 10 - 30, this is also a collection of random Hermione-centric Harry Potter ficlets. Pretty much non-canon and AU, I usually like a hint of romance. All things Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling. Even these little fics.
1. Christmas Kiss

_**A/N:** And so we start another drabble collection. If you've been with me for a while (you know who you are) you'll know I do this sometimes. Start stuff and find bits and pieces later, OR I write for flash fiction things on other sites . . . and so on. In this collection, then, I plan on posting flash fics written to prompts on other sites as well as anything else I've randomly written. SOME of these might show up as part of a larger story at some point, but I make no promises. _

* * *

**Christmas Kiss**

 **Hogwarts AU**

 **Pairing: Remus/Hermione**

 **Prompt: First Kiss**

 **. . . .**

"Hey," Remus murmured, wrapping his arms about her torso as she stared up at the frozen Christmas sky. "Everyone's worried about you."

Hermione shrugged, but she didn't dislodge him from his embrace of her. "I'll be all right. I just—I miss them."

Pain and fellow-feeling arced in his chest, making his eyes burn and his throat tighten. It wasn't her words, it was the way she sounded so lost . . . "I remember when my mum died," he whispered into her hair. She stiffened in his arms, but relaxed immediately thereafter and he sighed. "I'd never felt so alone. Even Dad couldn't find me. I wanted to, I wanted to find my wolf and keep him," he confessed. He'd never told that to anyone before.

She shivered and, abruptly, turned to enfold him in her arms. "I'm so sorry. And it must have been so hard for you. With everything else you had to handle." She burrowed her cold nose into his cloak and he relished the scents she carried with her and wondered if his own scent was discernible to her. "Were you in Hogwarts when, when it happened?" Her hands shifted and he could feel them clutching at the woolen fabric of his cloak. The tiny gesture warmed him more than he might have thought possible.

"No," he answered, still breathing in ink and parchment, spices and chocolate. The girl could get him more comfortable than anyone, but his wolf _wanted_ her in that moment. Fierce and hard. He swallowed back the sudden, unexpected rush of lust and blew out a breath. She was barely eighteen; he had to remember that. "It was during winter hols, like now," he told her. "I hadn't known she was sick; Dad didn't want to give me one more thing to worry about whilst I was at school." He could see his mother's face in his memory. "She was so tired, Hermione," he whispered. "And she looked so . . . old. I didn't know what to do."

"Oh, Professor," the girl said softly against his chest.

He had to laugh. "Remus, or Moony if you'd rather, _Miss Granger_. I'm not your professor, remember?" Leaning back from her a bit, he waited until she tilted her gaze to meet his. Her heart thudded—he could hear its extra thumps as well as smell the sharp spiking of chagrin and . . . something else.

"Moony. I've always rather liked that name, though I wasn't terribly fond of the others," she told him, her bright eyes scanning his face, with rapid movements.

Warmth spread out over his skin. Moony meant the wolf and she preferred the name. That, that _did_ something to him. Something very good and also rather dangerous. Still, he couldn't release her. Not now. "So, if you need to talk," he said, remembering why he'd followed her outside in the first place, "I'll listen."

She half-collapsed against his chest again. "It's almost as if I'd rather they'd been ill," she confessed, sounding ashamed. "I would have liked to have seen them, had time to prepare, you know? It was just so, so sudden." Her breath caught and Remus clutched at her more tightly.

"You're allowed to cry, you know," he said softly. "We're out here, all alone, and no one will see but me. I'll even close my eyes," he added with a sympathetic attempt at a smile.

Sniffling she shook her head so that her curls caressed his throat. His whole body yearned for her, but he refused to take advantage of her vulnerability as she hiccoughed and breathed and gasped and waged her own personal battle. "If I cry, then he won," she said, rasping. "I can't let him."

"He'll never know," he promised. "We've almost got him, you know. Tomorrow, we're burning all the horcruxes and you won't have to worry about him ever again."

She gathered herself, a series of small motions he could feel as she made them up and down the length of his body. "Neither will you." Tilting back, she stared at him again. "I'm sorry to have been such a, such a watering pot."

He cupped her face with one hand and when she leaned into his palm, he felt his heart race and his lips parted just to breathe. "Far cry from a watering pot, Hermione."

"Moony . . ."

Maybe it was the tender way her lips framed his name. Maybe it was the soft brush of her hand as she slipped it from his back up his chest to mirror his motion. Maybe it was the quick gasp she made when he tugged her that little bit closer against himself. Whatever it was, he could no more deny it than he could have denied the pull of the moon. He bent just a bit, nuzzling her nose with his, inhaling her scent, making sure there was no fear, there. And there wasn't, not from her. Not ever. Instead, she nudged him a bit and slid her open mouth against his skin. "Moony," she whispered again.

"Mmmm," was all he managed to say before their lips brushed for the first time. Brushed and met and molded and danced in the introduction of old friends who had been given a surprise Christmas gift. Hearts pounded and she slid and adjusted so that her arms were up and around his neck and he half-lifted her against him, slanting his mouth over hers again and again before silently demanding entrance to taste her.

Chocolate. Mint. All the best things surrounded his tongue and drugged his awareness. Her purring satisfaction, her restless movements against him, had him holding her more tightly, fingers bracing her bum and relying on her strength to hold herself next to him. He felt that she was his equal in every way. Intellectually, physically, emotionally. He could feel this tangibly as she gave herself to him, relaxing as he plundered her and she returned the attentions.

How long their first kiss lasted, he would never later be able to say. But when she broke it off—murmuring an apology about needing to breathe, of all things—he felt as if the earth as he knew it had shifted.

"Hermione Granger, you never cease to amaze me," he whispered, studying each minute shift of her expression.

Offering him a kiss-swollen smile, she cocked her head a little to one side. "Well, you've been impressing me for years, Moony, so I guess we're even."

"Remus? Did you find her?"

"Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said on a sigh.

"Yeah." He set the young woman gently on the frozen ground and did his best to straighten anything that might have given them away. He smiled into Hermione's eyes, finding an answering amusement in their depths. "Found her, Molly. We'll be right in."

"Oh, good, dear. I've a hot toddy for you both when you're ready."

Hermione caught his hand in hers as they walked back to the Burrow and he didn't even care who noticed. He didn't let her go.


	2. Regret

_**A/N:** The initial rules for the flash fics on the now-disappeared-site said that we could write for thirty minutes. No editing past that. I've tinkered a tiny bit with this since then, but this is basically the flash fic I wrote for Pagan Ianthe's prompt._

 _And no sooner do I post the second flash fic than I have to change the rating... Yeah. Sorry?_

* * *

 **Regrets**

 **Hogwarts/Deathly Hallows AU**

 **Pairing: Harry/Hermione, Ron POV**

 **Rated M for, well . . . you'll see.**

 **Prompt: Unrequited Love**

 **. . . .**

It didn't hit him for about a week, what he'd done to them. Leaving them. The pair of them. Alone. He'd been distraught, furious, under the influence of a dark object when he'd broken promises to them. But he _had_ broken them. Had he broken _them_? Hermione and Harry?

The questions clawed at his brain even in the relative safety of The Burrow.

"Ron?"

He blinked, shaking himself back to an awareness of the present. The kitchen. His family. Warmth and comfort.

His mother smiled tentatively and spooned some more stew into his bowl. "Ron? You could do with some more meat on your bones," she said. It hurt him to hear the hesitance in her voice, but he tried to smile and eat.

He'd been hungry for so long.

"You know," Mum added, "whenever you want to talk about . . . anything or everything . . . I'm here for you. Or you can talk to your dad, or I bet even Fred or George, if you'd rather not talk to a parent. D'you think you'll be going back to school?"

The rich, meaty stew tasted like wet dirt all of a sudden. He forced himself to swallow. "Er, no, Mum. I, I'm okay. It's good to have your home-cooked meals again, though." He nodded at her and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

Funny, how that sort of thing became important after months of not having napkins to speak of.

He tried, for weeks and then months, he tried. He tried to forget how he'd felt with the locket around his neck. The dreams, though, wouldn't stop.

He and Harry had guarded Hermione's privacy, but bloody hell, they were only human, weren't they? Ron had peeked; he'd bet his best mate had, too. She maybe even guessed that they had; she was a smart girl. But she'd never said anything. Privacy was a luxury and they had bloody few of them. Cleanliness was another one, but they would take turns washing up as they could.

Hermione would whip off the threadbare jumper before sliding from her faded denims, stepping a bit into a cold stream with only hasty warming charms to keep her from freezing. She was too thin, but Ron hadn't cared. It was _Hermione_. He'd loved her since, well, he didn't know when, exactly, but he'd had to face it as Bill's wedding, hadn't he? When Krum danced with her.

He'd been so sure she'd go away with the Quidditch star. But she stayed. And Ron knew he'd want to be with her always.

In the dreams, though, Ron watched Hermione taking off her clothes in the water to wash her underthings. He never had seen that in person, but in his dreams, he did. He watched her with suddenly appearing soap in her hands, lathering her body and making soft, happy sounds.

Ron knew his dream-self got guiltily excited as he watched, but he never moved. He just stroked himself, uncaring if she saw him as well. His dream-self was bold and daring, even going so far as to moan a little when Hermione slid lather between her thighs.

And then, she whispered, "Coming to join me?"

And his heart pounded. Every single time.

And he moved. Every single time.

Only to see him. Harry. Entering the stream behind Hermione and wrapping his arms around her. Moving to cup her breasts and kiss her neck. Ron had once watched Charlie make out with a girl behind the shed at the Burrow, and Harry moved like his brother had done, then.

"No!" he shouted in his dream. "No, you can't!"

Hermione didn't even look surprised to see him. "Of course he can. He has for months, Ron. You left us, remember?"

Though it killed him, just about, to watch, Ron did. It was his dream, after all. He watched Harry take Hermione from behind, in the stream. Merlin, he even came himself.

And every time, he woke up hot, sweaty, sticky, and heartbroken.

"I love you," he whispered into the dark room.

Finally, he had had it. It found the Deluminator—how had he forgotten the Headmaster's bequest to him?—and at length heard her voice . . . Hermione's voice . . . say his name.

Using it, he found his way back to her.

"I'm so sorry," he practiced saying, over and over. "I am. Hermione, I, I love you. I won't ever leave you again. I swear."

The words remained locked in his chest, though. For he found Harry, saved Harry, but still had to deal with that gods-damned locket and there, his worst fears were visualized.

Hermione. And Harry. Together.

He didn't have a chance.

Hermione walloped him, threatened to hex him, and gradually came to forgive him. Harry embraced him like a brother.

But Ron knew. Or thought he knew. He saw how only one bed was being used in the tent Harry and Hermione had shared. He saw her things mixed with his.

"So, er, where's my cot?" he ventured to ask after Hermione had left the warded area to get some water.

Harry's cheeks flared with a blush. "Right. That. Er, here." He tossed Ron a tiny cot and wandlessly enlarged it. "We kept it for you. And Ron," Harry went on, crossing the tent to envelope one of Ron's shoulders in his hand. "About what the locket showed you—"

"No, it's good. Fine. I figured as much and all. I mean, what's a bloke to do, yeah?"

Appearing relieved—his best mate had always been too quick to take his word, Ron guessed—Harry nodded. "All right then. So long as you're okay."

"Great. I'm great, Harry."

"Good."

"Yeah."

Hermione returned later and exchanged a quick communication with Harry. Their eyes met, her brow furrowed, he nodded and gave her a small, reassuring smile. They never had to say a word. The new confirmation sliced Ron up all over again; they'd always been able to do that, he felt. Always had a connection.

He was pretty sure Harry and Hermione had never been intimate, though, before he'd left them. _My own fault_ , he repeated silently during the night. _My own fault_.

Would it have been different if he'd stayed?

He would never know.

* * *

 _A/N: Unrequited love is always kind of sad, isn't it?_


	3. Runes on Paper

_**A/N:** Another flash fiction prompt from Pagan Ianthe. No pairing here is immediately obvious, but there's a story swimming in my head somewhere for this. This is here under Glimpses of Hermione because that's what you get, really. A glimpse. Of course, *we* will see it, but Remus won't..._

* * *

 **Runes on Paper**

 **Marauder-Era AU**

 **Featuring Remus Lupin**

 **Prompt: Letter**

 **. . . .**

Remus woke with a start, an uncomfortable feeling suffusing his awareness. Tense, he inhaled deeply, but detected nothing—at first—out of the ordinary. There was just the vague, stale smell of the very Muggle tent he was using whilst on surveillance of the northern packs for the Order. He also could scent his own ripe shirt—cleaning spells could only do so much, after a while—and the outdoor odors of rotting leaves, trees, and the rich smell of earth.

No wolves. No werewolves. No humans. Nothing anomalous to the environment that would normally have startled him awake.

Frowning, he pushed himself off the sleeping bag he had fallen asleep atop of, and whispered, " _Lumos_." The light revealed nothing of note. "Merlin, what is it?" He had learned, over the years, to trust his instincts. He'd been bitten at the age of four, changed into a Creature, and in the seventeen years since, he had gone to a hard school. Instincts were reliable.

Shifting, he inhaled again, more slowly, trying to parse out new scents. Layered over his own sweat, the faint aroma of chocolate—his biggest vice—and cold beef, he found what he was smelling for.

"Potion. Scent masking potion. What the bloody hell?" He slapped the canvas sheeting next to him and got his second, or was it third, startle of the night. Paper. Cautious, now, for the odd bits were starting to add up to anything other than safety for a spying sort, Remus aimed his wand at the folded bit of Muggle paper and cast a _Revelio_ geared specifically to traps, then one for poisons.

"Potion. Again." He leaned down to smell the still-folded paper and caught only the scent-masker.

Concerned but also impossibly intrigued, he gloved his hands and unfolded the paper . . . to find nothing. It was blank.

Here, though, he smiled and thought he knew what was up. "Padfoot. You're behind this somehow." He would have thought _James_ , but James was in hiding with Lily and the cub. "Fine. I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he recited, tucking his wand behind one ear and brushing sandy hair off his forehead.

The blank page filled slowly with a mix of runes and solid English. Remus swore, all of his prior discomfort returning threefold as he read.

 _Moony,_

 _Padfoot is not the Secret Keeper. It's Wormtail. Please make sure you remember this. It's important._

 _Make sure Padfoot protects the pup at all costs. He cannot stray from this one iota._

 _Sorry this is so cryptic, but secrecy is paramount._

 _Your friend,_

And then there was a drawing of an hourglass with an H as its frame.

It wasn't just the letter, nor the fact that it was doused in a scent-masking potion that was causing Remus's heart to thunder in his chest. It was the simple, lined _paper_. Muggle paper, such as his own mother preferred to keep about the house. It was also the fact that Remus Lupin had never, not in all his life, seen Ancient Runes written in what was clearly a standard Biro.

His throat went dry and his breath became nearly a panting sort of sound, desperate in the small tent.

" _Tempus_!" he rasped, his voice thick with worry. It was barely after ten at night on Hallowe'en. He had a job to do, even though the moon was in the middle of its cycle, he had to keep watch and ingratiate himself.

But. "This is more important. What the bloody hell are they thinking?"

Ranting, afraid, but also trying to make sense of it, he hurriedly packed up his gear and focused on Apparating from the northern forests to the Leaky Cauldron, where he could Floo to James's house. The Floo was closed to all but a few select wands, his being among them.

With barely a nod for the proprietor, Remus tossed a few sickles into a bowl for Floo powder and, extending his wand into the fireplace, whispered, "Godric's Hollow."

He arrived to heartbreak: Harry's cry for _Mummy_ from the upper floor.

Shadows and death lurked around every turn in the cottage, and Remus had to keep wiping tears from his eyes as he hurried as cautiously as he dared to the nursery. Blood and all the other gruesome scents attendant with Death almost overwhelmed him. But . . .

"Harry."

"Unka! Unka Moon!"

The baby cried and stretched up and Remus couldn't resist the wordless plea, so he gathered the boy up and held him tight against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent and knowing that the moment he took his nose from Harry's thickly thatched hair that the smell of Lily's cooling body would be all he'd smell the rest of the night.

"Mummy! Daddy!"

"Hush, now, cub. Let's go see who we can find."

"Mummy! Green!"

Spell damage was obvious all around the nursery, but Remus remembered the letter, the mysterious letter he'd received less than an hour before.

 _"…protects the pup at all costs."_

Not just Sirius, but Remus, too. Nothing and no one would endanger Harry ever again.

At last, he braced himself and, promising Lily and James that he'd care for their son, Remus took a quick look about the nursery. Finding a readied bag that smelled of diapers, creams, and that stuff that Lily fed the boy, he snatched it up.

He had to find Sirius. Immediately. The war had escalated.

He had to find Peter Pettigrew, too. He had to die.


	4. Hot Place, Hot Girl

_**A/N:** Behold, another bit of flash fiction prompted by Pagan Ianthe! Oh, this one is DEFINITELY being incorporated into a work-in-progress, just so you know. . ._

* * *

 **Hot Place, Hot Girl**

 **AU**

 **Pairing: Bill/Hermione**

 **Prompt: Hot**

 **. . . .**

"What was I thinking?" Bill Weasley muttered as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

The summer sun was blazing there in Camp Verde, Arizona, catching every shade of gold in Hermione's hair. He adjusted the wide brim of his hat and smiled at the picture she made, all tan and brown and golden in front of the magical ruins. She offered him a crooked smile.

"You were thinking of being here when there weren't a lot of tourists," she guessed.

He shrugged and surreptitiously scooted over the sand to be a little closer to her. "Or that the Chief Warlock needs what's behind that façade sooner rather than later." He grimaced. "You sure you're up to this? I mean, you could just watch out here, keep the Muggles away whilst I'm up there."

They stood, staring up at the legendary Montezuma's Castle. It was an ancient limestone dwelling, looking much like he imagined a great city would have looked hundreds of years in the past. He'd spent enough time amongst Egyptian ruins to have a feel for such things. The stone was exquisitely preserved, and even from the ground, far beneath the Castle itself, one could see the details of stairs and the various levels of the different dwellings and perhaps places of business. All built, or perhaps carved, from the rock which gave it defense, shelter, shade, and shape.

"Mr. Weasley," the young woman said in a dry American accent, "I am entirely capable, you know. The magical ruins of the indigenous societies here are something of a specialty of mine, you know." She met his gaze with her own direct one. "It's why your boss asked my boss, isn't it?"

"It is indeed." Hefting his rucksack over one shoulder, he nodded. "Are we climbing up or…?"

She flashed him a grin. "Oh, I figured Levitation might be good. Do you have an Invisibility Cloak in that pack of yours?"

He laughed and shook his head. "No, you?"

"Oh yeah. Can't Levitate and go all invisible at the same time." She blushed as she looked away. "I mean, I can't, anyway."

"Let's do it."

She brought out a water bottle with a small motor and fan blades. With a slight motion of her forefinger, she pulled on a lever and water sprayed out to hit her face and bare throat. The motor made a light purring sound and she sighed in relief. "This is great. Want to try it?"

He nodded, speechless as he couldn't help but follow drops of water that slid down her skin to dip under the low, square neckline of her cotton top. He felt himself blush and hoped it would be mistaken for his English sensitivity to the Arizona heat. Or maybe his red hair. Anything other than the sudden lust that bolted through his body like summer lightning.

Still smiling, the younger woman stepped closer to him and focused intently on his face. "See," she said as the silence grew thick, "I use this instead of a cooling charm because it's awfully suspicious not to sweat, out here. Besides, it actually feels kind of good when the liquid evaporates. Cools the skin." She pumped the bottle again and Bill felt the cool spray of water along his jaw, followed by the gentle breeze offered by the small fan. "Like it?"

"Oh yeah," he said, his mouth dry. The sensation of the water, the air—it felt as if she'd laved his skin herself and was blowing on it and— "Merlin, it's hot out here."

"Summer in Arizona. They really do fry eggs on the sidewalks in Phoenix, you know. It gets that hot." Chuckling, she tucked her water bottle away and shaded her eyes. "Ready now?"

"Might as well get this done," he stated, straightening his shoulders and reminding himself that he had a job to do.

Whispering the words in a language Bill didn't recognize, Hermione didn't even use her wand as she magically lifted him off the ground. Belatedly, he remembered to Disillusion himself, and the sound of her light laughter followed him as he floated invisibly to a narrow precipice near the edge of Montezuma's Castle. She motioned with her arm for him to move, so he took a quick look around, finding an open door in the building nearest to him. By the time he looked back for Hermione, though, she'd disappeared.

"Thanks," she said, landing so that he could see her feet on the sand-covered stone. Her trainers were white with red lacings. She took off the cloak and rolled it up to stow away in her pack. "All set?"

"Lead on," he murmured.

"Okay, then. We'll go through that door there, the one on the rounded dwelling."

He followed her, his mind alternately distracted by her trim figure in white jeans and white top and focused on the precious phial he carried with him. A dark artifact was said to be in the magical maze behind the public Castle. A maze that had been vibrant with the power of a great wizard, back when the Native American people had still held sway in this harsh landscape. Hermione belonged to a coven that knew the deserts of the Southwest, and her specialty was on the arcane magics of the historical people. That's why she was there that day with him, his assigned liaison.

He decided, though, to ask her to accompany him to a much cooler place if she was amenable after he'd completed this assignment.

"There, Bill. Stop. Hold very still."

Her wand out, she cast to reveal the traps that had been left behind. Bill blew out a breath. His skin was clammy with a fearsome chill. Suddenly, he wasn't hot at all.


	5. Her Mister W

**_A/N:_** _This flash fiction was written for_ ** _The Writing Haven_** _and we were given forty-five minutes. Imagine! Basically, this is what I posted at the site._

 **Her Mister W**

 **Pairing: Hermione/?**

 **Prompt: Secret Admirer**

* * *

 ** _21 April 1997_**

Hermione Granger was trying hard to suppress her smile that evening as she readied for bed. She didn't want to have the grin on her face when she knew Lavender was all upset over her breakup with Ron—and really, now that she thought of it, Ron wasn't that great a catch, anyway—but really, she was so happy.

She could Apparate! She'd passed and Mr. Twycross had smiled warmly at her and congratulated her and told her how well she'd done and for a moment, Hermione remembered how desperately eager she had been to hear those words years ago, upon her entrance to Hogwarts and the Wizarding World.

She knew her friends, even her best friends, called her a swot. It rankled, sure, but they didn't understand. None of them did. Not even Harry.

Harry might have a grin on his face tonight, too, come to think of it. Ginny and Dean had split up as well. Not a good day for romance, that was for sure.

But it had been a fine day for Apparition!

Just as she was tugging back the counterpane on her bed, an owl tapped at the window. Lavender and Parvati were commiserating—Hermione still didn't enter into that kind of emotional excess—so she opened the window herself with a small wave of her wand. " _Alohamora_ ," she whispered.

The owl was pale in color, with dark circles around its eyes and he landed on Hermione's trunk, there at the foot of her bed. "Well, hello," she murmured, going to kneel next to the trunk. "What've you got there?" The owl clicked its beak at her and she smiled. "Is it for me? Thank you!" Darting a gaze about the room, she found the bag she had around for Hedwig's treats. "Just a moment, here you go."

And, though the bird took her offering, it stayed right there on her trunk, so Hermione supposed a response would be required. "I'll read it now, then."

 _Dear Miss Granger,_

 _I saw at the Ministry today that you'd attained your Apparition License today, with Distinction, no less. I wanted to be the first to congratulate you on your achievement._

 _You are considered one of the brightest stars currently at Hogwarts and we are all eager to see how you will affect our world._

 _All the best ~_

 _W._

Puzzled, Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, chewing on her lip as she read the brief note again. The handwriting was unfamiliar, but she thought it was male. From the ministry. With a name that began with W.

"Huh. How do I answer this?" she asked the owl, who was staring expectantly at her.

It would only be polite to acknowledge the note, she decided, so she crossed the space she considered her own to retrieve writing supplies. "Dear 'W'," she began.

 _Thank you for your kind note of congratulation. It is intimidating to be thought of being watched closely, however, so I would appreciate it if you could share your name with me so I may cease to worry._

 _Thanks again,_

 _H._

"If he—or she—can use an initial, so can I!"

* * *

 ** _1 May 1997_**

 _Dear H,_

 _I hope you like chocolates. I found some in Muggle London that I have heard are very good, made by Cadbury._

 _I'm afraid I'm rather shy just now, but please know that I hold you in the highest esteem._

 _Affectionately,_

 _W_

The letter had arrived with the morning owl post, leaving Hermione no alternative but to acknowledge the receipt, even though the owl itself left straightaway. "Oh, dear," she murmured, opening the box of Cadbury's chocolate and sighing a little. "This is rather unexpected."

"Who're they from?" Ron asked, his fork of eggs poised just under his chin.

"I don't know," she answered honestly.

Harry, on her right, laughed a little. "What, our Hermione has a secret admirer?" He elbowed her gently. "Good on you, I say. Anyone we know?"

She rolled her eyes. "Honestly! I don't know who it is! They only signed the note with an initial!"

At that, Harry's demeanor changed. "You should have those chocolates looked at, you know. Make sure they're not poisoned or anything." He tugged the parchment from her fingers. "No weird compulsions or dreams or anything?"

"No, none. It's just a note, Harry. I'm sure it's not from, from anyone troublesome."

"Well, let me know if you get anything else, all right?" Harry hitched himself to look her squarely in the eye. "I'll worry."

She smiled. "I know. And I will, all right?"

* * *

 ** _6 May 1997_**

Fuming, Hermione was still pacing in her dorm room, conjuring bits of cloth to wad up and throw at her pillows on the bed. "Cannot believe that boy," she groused. "Stupid book. I warned him. And now he's got detention for the rest of the bloody year!"

"Language, Hermione," Parvati chimed in from her bed. She was smiling, though, so Hermione knew the other girl was teasing. "Oh, look, an owl. Maybe from your secret admirer, eh?"

Blushing, Hermione beckoned to the owl to come to her trunk. "It's the same one. It's rather strange, don't you think?"

"What, that you have an admirer who isn't here? No, not at all. Remember Krum, Hermione. Apparently you appeal to older men!" The dark-haired girl laughed again, rolling over on her bed to prop herself up on her elbows. "So! Spill! What's it say?"

"Oh, there's a red carnation tied up with a gold ribbon in here." She decided a quick sniff would be all right, so she breathed in the sweet, spicy fragrance. "Red and gold. I wonder if the mysterious 'W' is—or was—a Gryffindor?"

"Red carnations symbolize admiration, you know." Parvati sat up. "And it can also mean that the giver's heart aches for the recipient. Oooh, Hermione! Someone's in love with you!"

"Hush, you," Hermione retorted, unsealing the accompanying letter.

 _Dearest Hermione~_

 _Your brilliance lights my sky_

 _Even in the darkest night._

 _Your smile shines so bright_

 _It sets my heart alight._

 _I want so much to see you_

 _To gaze into your eyes,_

 _But I worry you won't want me_

 _And feel safer with surprise._

 _The summer comes quite quickly_

 _And I hope to do my part_

 _To meet you and to woo you_

 _And perhaps to win your heart._

 _Your_

 _W._

"Merlin! That is direct! So, let me get this straight," Parvati said, her eyes dancing as she slipped the parchment from Hermione's nerveless fingers. "Your Mr. W here has send you candy, flowers, and poetry, now, right? All that's left is jewelry!"

Frustrated and unnerved, Hermione leapt to her feet, ignoring the hooting of the pale owl. "I can't answer this. It's, it's like I'm being stalked, Parvati. It's scary." Never mind that there were plans in motion for the summer . . . plans that had priority over everything. "Maybe I can put a tracking charm on the owl and find out where it goes, then I can know who it is." It was a positive thing, and she resolved to do so in the morning. She was sure that Professor McGonagall might know of something.

* * *

"Mr. Twycross?" Hermione smiled at her Apparition instructor, extending her hand to shake. "Good to see you again."

The pale fellow blushed but shook her hand slowly before clearing his throat and tugging at his robes. She didn't remember him being so uncomfortable before, but she ignored that for the moment. After a moment, he took a quick breath. "How may I help you today, my— her, Miss Granger?"

"I was, er, looking for someone who might be able to help me decipher something." Hermione slid the first note she had received from Mr. W. out of her bag. "Handwriting, really."

"Oh?" His face seemed to catch fire, then, and Hermione studied him, suddenly suspicious as he cleared his throat and regained control of himself. "Of course. Perhaps I can help you? I used to be quite good at puzzles and things, before I began at the Ministry."

"How long have you been here, sir?"

"Oh, please, call me William," he said absently, his focus entirely on the letter in her hand.

Hermione froze, her heart taking a sharp beat in her chest. "William. William Twycross." Her mind raced as she tried to think what to say. "Sir. Am I to thank you for the lovely carnation?" Her worries evaporated into the air at his nod; she had nothing to fear from him. She smiled and tucked the letter away. "Mystery solved. I thank you, William."

He smiled with more confidence into her eyes. "May I, may I take you to lunch?"

"That would be very kind of you. I'll even Apparate us. I had a wonderful teacher."

* * *

 _ **A/N:** William (Wilkie) Twycross is indeed the Apparition Instructor at the Ministry. I checked his age and the Harry Potter wikia said that he was **born before 1979** \- making him some untold number of years older than Hermione. For the purpose of this story, he's "several" years older, but not so many that it's creepy for him to send her flowers, candy, and poetry. So, say, older than Viktor Krum and younger than Bill Weasley?_


	6. Unexpectedly

_**Unexpectedly**_

 **Hogwarts AU**

 **Pairing: Remus/Hermione**

 **Prompt: _The Proposal_**

 **Flashfic for The-Writer-Haven dot com**

* * *

Her footsteps pounded over the gravel, causing small stones to fly and land with tiny crashes in the still evening air. "Wait! Wait a minute, will you? I've been worried sick!"

Remus paused, lips pressed tightly together, and Hermione could only be relieved when he turned to face her. He'd left in such a rush. Such an unimaginable haste, after their last meeting.

Meeting. That's what it had been, seemingly. Foolish man.

He spoke, then, his voice deep and slow, rich with the undertones of control and irritation. "Why have you been worried?"

Her heart lurched within her and she came to a halt in front of him, her boots slipping a little.

Like a gentleman, he moved to steady her, his hands firm and familiar on her shoulders, his eyes alert to her uncertain balance. Like Remus, though, he immediately withdrew as soon as he saw she was stable once more. "Why have you been worried?" he asked again, shoving his hands in the pockets of his Muggle trousers.

Her gaze was thus drawn to his hips and she blushed, jerking her focus northward once more to meet his eye. "Why? You've been gone, Remus. And no one would say where you'd been sent. Of course I worry. I— You're, you're _important_ to me."

The green of his gaze shifted to gold for a couple of heartbeats and her mouth went dry. She wondered, briefly, if anyone was about to see them, here on Hogwarts's front walk, as it were. Hundreds of windows in the castle, surely a few forward-facing ones were occupied.

He swallowed, the movement of his Adam's apple visible above his collar. "After, after last time . . ."

She snorted and shook her head before moving closer to him. "Last time, Mr. Lupin, we barely spoke. You seemed far too anxious to remove yourself from my presence." She tried to keep her tone light, playful, because she knew her former DADA professor—he'd assume the worst, otherwise, and she knew she never wanted him to do so again. She had to be very clear.

He snorted as well before rolling his shoulders. They were at her eye level and she moved to smooth the fabric of his Oxford button-down over that handsome, lean part of his anatomy. That she lingered there was not at first intentional. Not until he stiffened under her fingers. "Hermione . . ." His tone was both warning and plea.

She decided to only heed the latter, flattening her palm and moving it deliberately down to caress the firm planes of his chest, accidentally-on-purpose skimming his hard nipple as she did so. The feel of it under the heavy shirt fabric made her heart beat quickly. His heart sped as well and she stepped closer, able then to feel the heat of his body as if it were a warming charm cast just for her. "Is this not what you want?" she asked quietly without any playful overtones whatsoever.

"Yes, no, I mean— Bloody _hell_ , woman, you have no idea." With a move so fast she would have missed it if it hadn't involved her, Remus pulled her tight into his embrace. He was trembling, but only for as long as it took him to take a long sniff of her hair, her throat, and that sensitive place he'd found behind her left ear. Then, she could feel a rumble deep in his chest and she was able to relax in his arms. "I can _smell_ you, Hermione, did you know that?"

"I have done my reading," she reminded him, squirming until she could reach around his shoulders to feather her fingers through his graying blond hair. "I only wish I could smell you as well."

Every muscle that she felt against her tightened before he keened softly against her cheek. "Hermione, you can't _say_ that."

"I can. Because it's true. I want to be a part of you, Remus. A part of everything that you are. I love you."

He started, but didn't put her away from him. Instead, he gasped and shifted until he could see her face in the faint starlight of the springtime evening. "How can you? I'm old and—"

"We've been through all this. Remember? Except last time we had this talk, you swore it was just my hormones, not my heart. But you also told me you didn't regret it."

"I didn't. Don't. But. How can you . . .?"

"Love you?"

"Love me, yes." His face was strained, his eyes golden in the deepening dark.

"Because you're everything that makes me happy. Except when you run off like you did without letting me know where you were."

He inhaled, slow and deep, before pressing her head tenderly to his chest. She could feel the strength of him, smell the heat of him, and knew his eyes were burning as hers were. "You're everything that makes me happy as well, Hermione Granger." He paused, as if testing the words before saying them. "And I love you. I just honestly thought you couldn't, because I—"

" _Honestly_ , Remus. I thought you said I was the brightest witch of my age."

They shared a laugh then, and Hermione took her own deep, deep breath before taking the biggest risk of her life—which, considering she was Harry Potter's best friend, was saying something.. "Remus John Lupin? Will you marry me?"

His soft laughter was utterly unexpected, but as he followed it up with an all-encompassing kiss that made her toes curl in her half-boots, she decided to go with it. Tasting, touching, feeling the ways in which he pressed her body to his, the soft growls of contentment, of igniting passion, the flares of heat deep within her and between her thighs. It was as much of an answer as she expected, because she was pretty sure he'd have to think about what she'd asked.

So, when he pulled his lips from hers and set her back on her feet, holding her still as the gravel shifted about them, she expected to see the shy smile, the hesitance, the brief caress of his gaze.

But when he knelt at her feet and took her hands in his, she felt the tears fall at his unexpected maneuver. "Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I'd be the happiest man alive to accept."

He conjured a cushion big enough for two, and they stayed out until a stag-shaped Patronus found them, still cuddled together in the misty dawn.


	7. Left Holding the Bags

_**A/N:** Lo and behold, another bit of flash! For this one, I was just in that "Oh, let's be different!" place in my head, I guess, and went all dialogue. No tags. No "business", no identifiers outside of the words being spoken. It's all just what you'd hear if you were Rita Skeeter or some other bug on the wall. This flashfic is basically exactly how it was posted at The Writing Haven. I wrote it in 30 minutes and...this is what it was._

* * *

 **Left Holding the Bags**

 **Post-Hogwarts AU/EWE**

 **Pairing: George Weasley/Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley**

 **Rating: T for Triad**

 **Prompt from The Writing Haven: Holidays ("** ** _meaning vacation for you American bods_** **")**

 **. . . .**

"No."

"Cor, 'Mione! It's not that hard, is it?"

"I said _No_ , and I meant _No_ , you dolt."

"I'm not a dolt! George, here, _he's_ the dolt. Lost his ear now, didn't he?"

"Oi! That makes me holey, not doltish!"

"Oh, now you've done it, she's rolling her eyes at us."

"Would you just get out of my way? The pair of you are enough to drive a girl mad!"

"Oh, Freddie. We're driving her mad. That's passionate, that is."

"She's a passionate girl, our Hermione."

"I am _not_ your Hermione!"

"Here, let me take your bundles, 'Mione."

"George Weasley! Give that back!"

"Not until you agree to go out with us."

"George, I do believe our girl has actual steam coming out her ears. Right there. Look, her hair's curling."

"Fred. George. I can't. I mean, it'd be—weird."

"Weird? How? Because we're gingers? George, I do believe she's colorist."

"I am not! Oh!"

"Can't be against the color red, Fred. Look, her ears are red. All bright and shapely like they are."

"Look. It's just for dinner."

"It's not just dinner. It's that Ostara feast, blast your eyes!"

"Aw, 'Mione, I thought you liked our eyes!"

"And our ears, though I've only got the one."

"Ah! Your mother is hosting the celebration. I know that. And she's planning on making it traditional. I've already received my invitation, of course, but I had to look it up. I mean, growing up? Easter meant roast lamb and such."

"Mum's fine if you want to bring roasted lamb, Hermione. It'd go nicely with the sunflower and pumpkin seeds."

"Maybe she won't make us eat rabbit if you bring lamb."

"Would you just listen to me? It's a fertility feast!"

"Oh."

"Well."

"We know that, of course. Hey, come on, don't stalk off, 'Mione. We're not asking you to, you know, perform any rites or anything."

"Though—if you wanted to, of course, we're available."

"We're all adults now, and all."

"Why is this happening to me?"

"There, there, ah, thank you. Come on, right here at Fortescue's, all right? You need a lolly."

"Or tea. I think he might have some, somewhere."

"George. Fred. Why are you doing this? I said No. I'm not ready to, to embrace the old traditions. I'm a modern, twenty-first-century female."

"Your cheeks are flushed, Hermione."

"Mmm-hmm. Quite attractive, that."

"Look. If it's not weird because we're gingers—"

"Pfft!"

"Why, then?"

"Because . . . it's your family. And it's a spring festival and I've heard stories and—"

"You know it's just Mum wanting to help Ginny get pregnant."

"Oh!"

"And Luna, of course. She'll actually be the one in charge, Luna will. Has this idea—"

"I know, I know! She told me. She wants twins. . ."

"Like us!"

"There are no twins on earth like you two. Unless it was maybe your uncles. I've heard stories about them, too."

"Ah, we come from good families, 'Mione. Really, do come. Please."

"Er, it's not because of Ron, is it? I mean, that's over, right?"

"Blimey, of course it is. Long over."

"Good, then. So?"

"Both of you?"

"What? That was awfully soft there, Hermione."

"I asked if you're both asking me. At the same time."

"Oh."

"Well."

"We're failing miserably, Freddie. How long has it been since—?"

"Dunno. At least a year since a bird didn't understand we were both asking her out at the same time. Always thought Hermione'd twig on to that, though."

"Twig on to what?"

"We're twins, Hermione. Identical twins. Like our uncles that you said you'd heard stories about?"

"Oh. Oh. Ooohhh…."

"Ah, there it is. She gets it now, George. There's that light in her eye we love so well."

"Oh, look, tea! Here you go, Hermione."

"How'd you know I took it with one sugar?"

"Cor! We're observant, we are. Good at sussing people out."

"Mmm. So."

"Please? Come with us?"

"Ah, she's thinking about it, Freddie. The Granger Gears are spinning!"

"Stop it!"

"Ha! And she's laughing now, so my day is made."

"Mine, too."

"…Really? Me _laughing_ makes your days?"

"Oh, Hermione. You really can be thick sometimes, for all you're a War Heroine, Order of Merlin bearing Genius Witch."

"I don't know what to say."

"You could say you've fancied us since Hogwarts!"

"Fred!"

"What? No? How about since Ginny's wedding, when we both danced with you but George pretended he couldn't hear the music because of his ear?"

"Well, maybe."

"She's smiling, Freddie."

"Well, you are as well, you know."

"O'course I am. I'm watching a brilliant witch agree to a date with me and my twin, here."

"Makes me smile, too."

"All right. I'll go. If you're sure. Both of you."

"Finally!"

"You know, it makes me mad when you talk at the same time like that."

"You like it, you know it."

"No, I don't. I get all confused."

"Here, I'll talk in this ear, and Fred'll talk in that one and—"

"Ohhhh… I, er, yes. No confusion anymore."

"But I bet your knickers are wet."

"Fred!"

"Come on, Hermione, let's get you home. Aren't you on holiday?"

"Barely. Been staying at the castle, you know. Easier than opening up my flat for a week or two when I see my mum and dad."

"Come on, then. Let's go scandalize Filch!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"Fine. But I'm not going to side-along with either of you. Last one inside the wards has to, oh, rub my feet!"

"Cor! Blimey! She's gone just like that!"

"Left us holding the bag, too!"

"I love that girl."

"Yeah. We'll tell her at the feast."

"All right."


	8. Wild Hair

_So, I really want to do a good Viktor/Hermione story someday. I do. But that day is not today. To scratch my itch, as it were, I decided to revisit the Viktor and Hermione connection I established in my Drarry story,_ Jolt _._

* * *

 **Wild Hair**

 **GoF AU**

 **Rated K+ for KRUM!**

 **Pairing: Viktor/Hermione**

* * *

The girl had wild hair. It caught his attention immediately at the festivities before the World Cup. He was gadding about, glamoured, with his friend Marko.

"Come, Viktor!" Marko had encouraged him. "There is plenty of time to prepare for the match. I want to see the rest of it!"

And so they had done. Viktor had made himself look like his father's senior accountant, a man of middle years who had a paunch and silver mustache. Marko had gone the other way, appearing as a woman, which had shocked Viktor considerably. Blond hair and blue eyes, wearing something scandalous.

"I cannot be seen with you," Viktor had protested, forgetting his disguise. "What would people say?"

With a laugh, Marko shook his head. "It's not you! It's not me! It's these other people! I'm Olga, you're Ivan. Let's just go, all right?"

So they had done, wandering through the colorful tents and even making snide comments about the enormous posters displayed with Viktor's visage glaring fierce and proud. "You look like a dangerous man," Marko murmured in their native Bulgarian.

"I am one."

Hungry, they approached a vendor who was selling hot chocolate and pastries. A girl and two boys came at the same time and Viktor nudged Marko away. Marko balked. "Really, I would think," he said in a falsetto tone, "that you would see to my needs first, my love."

The boys snickered—the one with red hair especially loudly—whilst the wild-haired girl with them smiled in encouragement when he glanced her way.

It was a glance that would change the rest of his life, though he knew it not.

As he flew around the Quidditch pitch with his team before the final match that night, he scanned the seats, looking for that wild hair. He found her at last, and marked the location with that part of his mind that kept all the players for his team in their places in his mind, though he focused entirely on the Snitch.

Her hair curled like a soft cloud about her head. Her eyes, when he had met them, were dark, yet bright with intelligence. And as he sped by her seat, she waved at him encouragingly.

"A rose!" he told his trainer in the team's shower room. "I want a pink English rose, fresh and in stasis, for after the match."

It was a brutal game and Viktor ended it at last, knowing that Bulgaria would not win. Ireland had good players and they had been lucky.

Of course, they always said so, no?

So when Viktor saw the Snitch he dove like a madman, seeking to earn his nation significant points even if they could not win the match itself.

So he had done, and pride kept him on his broom whilst the Irish did their victory lap.

"Good catch, there, my friend," Marko said, slapping his back.

Viktor nodded slowly. "And you, my friend, did well. You are a legend as a Beater."

Marko sighed and ran his hands through sweat-damp hair. "Not enough of one."

Viktor closed his eyes in concentration, still hovering amongst his teammates. He Summoned the carefully preserved pink rose he had asked for before the match began.

It came to him, a living dart over the heads of tired men. Those who saw it smiled a little and that lifted Viktor's own spirits. " _Da_. It's good," he mused to himself.

"A rose?" Marko grinned, his blue eyes dancing. "For whom? One of the ladies in the blue . . . ?"

Viktor shook his head even as the announcer for the match called his team out, one by one, to fly to the cheers of their fans. "No. Not a lady in blue. A girl with hair a man could get lost in."

"Beater Marko Zhivkov!"

"Good luck, my friend!"

He would be called last, he knew, and Viktor did his best to smile and wave at all the fans. As he flew, he looked for her, remembering where she was. "Ah!"

Leaning out, as if to see as much as possible, was his desired girl. Grinning—he was sure he looked like a madman himself—Viktor tucked the rose into his left glove and dropped it to her.

It hit her right in the midst of all that glorious, riotous hair.

"Hey!" she shouted, though she took his glove and held it tight against her body.

"Krum!" two of her male companions shouted. Viktor tipped his broom to climb, so he could double back and hear what else was said. "Hermione! Krum dropped one of his game gloves on you!"

 _Hermione_. Her name, he thought was . . . something? As he flew away, he wondered if the passing of air over his ears had altered her name to him.

 _Her-my-nee? Her-my-nonnee?_

She was English. She had been with a family that had a lot of red hair.

He could work with that. He knew many people and they knew many other people and his father had told him that they would be going to the United Kingdom for the competition that year . . .

His dreams that night were not of winning the next World Cup, but of burying his fingers in wild curls of hair.

They were good dreams.


	9. Happy Birthday, Severus

_A/N: In honor of the Potions Master's Birthday, I jotted down this on the spur of the moment...obviously._

* * *

 **Happy B'day, Severus**

 **Marauder Era/Time Travel/AU**

 **Pairing? Not so much but Severus/Hermione as far as that goes...**

 **Rated G**

 **. . .**

Being sent back in time had been a huge compliment to Hermione. The Order trusted her to make things right; things that had gone so dreadfully, desperately wrong. Dumbledore had held too many cards too close to his vest, becoming closed-mouth and distrustful of everyone before he committed Suicide by Horcrux.

That Hermione had escaped with her sanity intact from Torture by The Dark Lord was due entirely to the Greasy Git of the Dungeons Who Wasn't So Bad After All, Professor Snape.

When Professor McGonagall had sent Hermione back in time, Hermione had wished to make right one thing in particular: she wanted to keep Snape from having the reputation he'd acquired later in life. Namely, being a Greasy Git. Wizarding Britain owed him so much more than a derisive appellation.

Having arrived post-Dark-Marking but pre-Betrayal, Hermione did her best to get on Severus Snape's good side. He did have one, she'd learnt. So she'd found him at his old house in Spinner's End, north of Birminghamshire. She'd learnt his direction after doing some research before she'd been sent back, so it was no trouble, really, to Apparate there.

She knocked with, she hoped, some authority on the chipped, ancient door of the dilapidated brick house. She kept her wand in her hand and her hand just inside the lapel of her coat. She knocked again and then did a detection spell to make sure that Severus hadn't escaped by Floo.

No, he was there. She heard a hard, angry step approach the door. "Who is it and whom are you seeking?"

"My name's Hermione, and I've got a potion for you."

There was a series of loud turnings and pullings as several locks disengaged. This was a very Muggle strategy and Hermione had to wonder why he utilized it. She didn't ask, though, when he poked his nose and one eye into the barely open crack of the door. "You aren't from the apothecary."

His voice was still like dark chocolate nestled in black velvet and Hermione managed somehow not to smile. "No, I'm from, er, your old school, sir," she murmured with a quick look around. She was being so obvious, but he didn't seem to take exception. The door opened another inch. She nodded politely and slid a green glass bottle from one pocket. He stiffened but then nodded in his turn. "This, sir, is a potion for you. It's to aid in, er, any post-brewing clean-up. A gift. I was sent," she said in perfect honesty, "from Minerva." It was so odd to use her professor's first name.

One ink-black brow rose. "Oh?" He accepted the bottle with the barest of touches and she could see him execute a series of revelatory spells on it. "Hm. No hexes or tracking charms."

"No, sir. It's a personal clean-up item, truly. Er, happy birthday?"

He snorted and slid the bottle into his own pocket. "Extend," he said slowly, "my most sincere gratitude to Minerva." Every word dripped sarcasm, but he kept the bottle and shut the door in her face.

Months later, she intercepted him at a certain job interview and, after re-introducing herself, she smiled to see his hair. Clean, soft, black, and actually shorter than it used to be.

He'd used her potion! No matter what happened, he would no longer be known as The Greasy Git.

"Hi, there," she said, turning on all her available charm and laying a hand lightly on his arm. "Remember me? From your birthday?"

When he jolted, then smiled a little, she realized she'd distracted him and offered to buy him a drink.

A prophecy may have been made that night, but he didn't hear it.

And Dumbledore would never, ever, hold him hostage.

Happy birthday, Severus, she mused over her butterbeer.

And, as if he read her mind, he lifted one brow and offered her a small, curious smile.


	10. Pureblood Hermione, Part the First

_**A/N:** So if you've read others of my stories, you might have gleaned that I have a thing with Hermione as Hermione Dagworth-Granger. In this intermittent series I'll be posting here in Glimpses of Hermione, I intend on showing glimpses of a pureblood **Hermione Dagworth-Granger**. Her backstory will show up here and there as we go along, but be assured she is indeed a pureblood in this Marauder Era series. **No time-traveling has happened**._

* * *

 **King's Cross Station, 1 September 1977**

"I can't believe Potter was made Head Boy over you," Lily Evans muttered out the side of her mouth as she oversaw the Hogwarts Express boarding. First years pausing in awkward places, third years dashing as if they owned the world, sixth years looking bored as Merlin's cat as they sauntered to a favored compartment.

Remus Lupin shook his head, but he was smiling as he bent down to charm a trunk for a firstie. "There you go, lad. Mind, don't dawdle." To Lily he offered a grin. "Well, I couldn't very well be Head, could I? James would have my bollocks if I got to share a Head Dorm with you." Lily blushed, her cheeks scarlet as she pretended not to care. Remus nudged her with an elbow. "He's a _deer_ fellow, you know. I'm sure he'll make sure his _dog_ is dorm-trained."

She rounded on him, finger all but poking his chest. "He will _not_ be bringing Black into our dorm!"

Remus opened his mouth to say something when he heard a long, low whistle behind him. He thought it might have been Wormtail. Wormtail wasn't whistling toward the train, however. He seemed to be rather transfixed upon a girl.

A _new_ girl.

A petite but definitely of-age new girl with long, thick curls that looked a shade unruly. Just enough to make a man think that he would want to sink his fingers in them for hours. She wore robes of blue and cranberry with some sort of golden knot as a clasp. Lapels on her robes had shamrocks embroidered along the edges in a delicate but lively manner.

"Who is that?" Lily whispered. "I don't recognize those robes. Are we getting new ones?"

"I don't recognize her at all," Remus said in response.

The girl paused a moment, her stance and gaze aloof as she saw so very many eyes staring at her. Remus focused and wanted to ask Peter to go to her and invite her to the Marauders' compartment. "Wormtail!" he whispered loudly.

Peter nodded and rolled up on his feet before hurrying to the new girl, hand outstretched in greeting. Peter was a great one to meet, because he wasn't rambunctious and he wasn't flirtatious and he _certainly_ wasn't a monster. Remus ignored all the other students for a few moments, wanting to see if Peter was successful at putting the new girl at her ease. "I wonder what year she's in."

"I wonder where she got her robes!"

Remus snorted. "Never knew you to be so obsessed with _robes_ , Evans. Or is it the _girl_? Should I tell James?"

"Remus Lupin! Oh, good. Pete's got her. He'll make sure she gets settled and since he doesn't have meetings or anything, he can stay with her and not abandon her."

Pete wiggled his brows playfully in Remus's direction and mouthed, "American!" at him.

"She's from the States," he told Lily. "Her sartorial choices are thus explained."

"Oh, you. The States. Hm. Ilvermorny, I think, is the major school, there. Oi, you lot, there! Get moving! You know I'm talking to _you_ , Avery."

Remus wasn't watching Avery or anyone. His gaze was trained on a firm-stepping girl with navy and cranberry colored robes who was being ushered onto the train with Wormtail. "I've gotta get my stuff in the compartment, and then I'll make it to the meeting, Lils."

He heard her smile in her voice when she said, "Of course. I'll make sure Potter saves you a seat. Better fix your tie, there, lover boy. Do you know any American anecdotes?"

* * *

 _Note: I've got a few glimpses written for this intermittent series already, but not a "story" as such. But . . . who knows what could develop, hmmm? Pairings are yet to be determined, but be advised that as a pureblood, it is highly likely she'll be getting some pressure to at least attach herself to a respectable fellow before the year's over._


	11. Pureblood Hermione, Part the Second

_**A/N:** Wow! Blown away by the response to American, Pureblood Hermione! Here's a bit more..._

 _Remember, I don't have pairings even chosen yet,_ per se _. So keep an open mind._

* * *

 **Hogwarts Great Hall, 1 September 1977**

"So, Wormtail, who's the bird?"

Peter felt pride and an unexpected pleasure well up in his chest when Sirius asked the question whilst pointing to Dagworth-Granger with his chin. Peter knew something they _didn't_. _He_ was the one who'd been asked to take her about. _He_ was the one whom she'd sat with _for hours_ on the ride up.

 _Take that, Padfoot!_

Half the lads on this end of the Gryffindor table leant in and Peter did his best. "Well, she's from Ilvermorny, in Massa- Massach? Massaset?"

"Massachusetts," Moony murmured next to him.

"Right. There! She's in her seventh year and there, she was sorted in Pukwudgie. She said it was the House representing the heart of a witch or wizard." He hoped he remembered that properly. "Many great healers, she said, came from her House."

"What's the Pukwudgie's _name_?" Padfoot asked, all but leaning over Moony.

"Dagworth-Granger. Hermione Dagworth-Granger. Her father's Hector Dagworth-Granger's grandson and—"

"Oh!" Evans said, her eyes big and round across the table from Peter himself. "I read about him just at the end of last term. He passed away and his grandson is due to take over the Potions Company and maybe even head up the Society."

Peter nodded. "She said that. They're actually living in Wales, now. Aberystwyth area? Her accent was all off, so I had to try to translate," he jested, grinning at Moony.

"She's American, not French," his friend retorted. "Look, they're Sorting."

The firsties came in, well, first, and McGonagall called their names and there was the whole routine. Peter felt a pang in his chest for a moment, though. "Last Sorting," he whispered.

"Yeah." Moony rested his chin in his hand. "Were we that small, Pete?"

"Missus Potter has pictures . . ."

"Far too many pictures," Prongs said under his breath.

"Well, I need to see them," Evans said, her eyes dancing as they touched on Prongs.

They'd been keeping their conversation quiet, remembering to clap for every sprog sorted into their House, until there was a lull and then:

"And we've a new student this year, transferred from Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in America. Hermione Dagworth-Granger."

Slughorn actually rose to his feet at the head table, his eyes huge in his face, his mustaches all but quivering, Peter thought. "Welcome!" he shouted.

Peter saw Hermione (Dagworth-Granger was certainly a mouthful, wasn't it?) nod politely at the Potions professor before lifting both brown brows into her forehead and coming to stand in front of McGonagall.

"Do I have to sit on the stool?" she inquired, her accent plain as anything.

"No, Miss Dagworth-Granger. Just stand here, if you'd rather."

McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on Hermione's head and the whole Great Hall hushed in anticipation. "She's got to be brave to keep it together like that in front of all of us," Prongs ventured.

Padfoot pursed his lips thoughtfully. "But look at her. I'm guessing Slytherin, Damn it."

Evans rolled her eyes. "At least she'd have people there who know her family."

"What do you think, Pete?" Moony asked as the Sorting Hat seemed to be stuck. Even McGonagall looked impatient and Headmaster Dumbledore was already standing at his podium to give the firsties their speech.

"I'm going to say Ravenclaw."

Moony laughed softly. "I'd better guess Hufflepuff then so I don't look like I'm siding with any of you."

The Hat finally shouted, "She belongs to Gryffindor!"

Peter bounded to his feet, applauding like a crazy man. "I knew it! I knew she was one of us."

"You said she was a Pukwudgie, mate," Sirius reminded him with a laugh. But all the Marauders were standing and clapping for the new girl as she turned to approach their table.

Claiming right of first meeting, Pete hurried past his friends and scowled a sixth year into budging over. "Hey, there. Welcome to Gryffindor, Dagworth-Granger."

"Please. It's Hermione," the girl said. "And thank you, Peter."

"Pay up!" Prongs demanded, grinning at Hermione. "I won the bet, you see."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Ignore him."

"He's Head Boy," the new girl protested, a tiny line between her brows.

Pete nudged her, smirking inwardly when his mates all looked at him oddly. "We Gryffindors bet on anything. It's mental, but it's what we do."

"Well, I don't. And Head Boy? Don't bet on me again, please."

Evans nodded, approval flaring in her eyes. "You tell 'em. So! I want to know about your old school!"

Dumbledore made his usual speech, Slughorn pouted over his tea, and Lily Evans monopolized Hermione's time during most of the feast. Peter didn't much care; she was one of theirs and he'd met her first!

* * *

 _A/N: For the record, information about Ilvermorny was largely gleaned from the Harry Potter Wikia, including House symbols and the robes and so on. But if my stuff doesn't "match up" it's not for lack of checking it out. Honest. :)_


	12. Pureblood Hermione, Part the Third

_**A/N:** You guys are so kind in your response to this little intermittent, unfinished series. Thank you! American Pureblood Hermione thanks you, too. _

_I told some of you that Sirius was next in his perspective, but I forgot something that had to come first. So, here's James._

 _And please note: James will be with Lily. This is not meant to be Intro to the Head Boy Romancing the American Girl. It's just that we're in his head, here. I'll try to have Sirius up tomorrow._

* * *

 **Gryffindor Common Room, 2 September 1977**

"Oi, Prongs. Where's Evans?" Moony called softly. He was just a few days out from the full of the moon, but he'd bounced back pretty well, that month.

James smiled to himself. It helped, he knew, that Moony had had his Pack with him. "She'll meet us at breakfast. I just wanted to smooth things over with Dagworth-Granger. Lily was rather pointed about that last night."

Moony lifted a brow. "Oh _really_? And? How pointed were _you_?"

"Sod off!" James retorted, blushing up the throat. "Has Miss D-G made it down yet?"

"Yeah. I thought I'd try to walk her in, yeah?"

It was James's turn to tease and he made all kinds of suggestive gestures just as the new girl appeared from the Girls' Stairs. "Good morning, Miss Dagworth-Granger."

"Mister Head Boy."

"Potter. James Potter."

Her lips twitched and he thought she said, "Bond. James Bond," under her breath.

Remus snorted. "He does that on purpose, Miss Dagworth-Granger. You caught it in one."

"My father told me," the girl said, regarding James with a steady air, "that the purebloods of Britain don't often go to the movies. Cinema? Films?"

"Cinema," James said with a nod.

"We've been better educated though," Moony declared. "Our Head Girl, Lily Evans, is Muggleborn and she's made sure her counterpart here—and the rest of us—are properly aware of the important things."

"Like James Bond." Dagworth-Granger's smile was dry. "Well, that's good."

James cleared his throat. "So. I have to apologize to you for betting on you last night."

"That was yesterday. We're fine, Mister Head Boy."

"Potter!"

"Would you rather go by Potter, James Potter?" she inquired with a challenge in her firewhisky-brown eye.

Moony coughed and whispered, "Prongs!"

Dagworth-Granger could not have heard Moony, but James could have sworn she giggled as she swept by them and headed toward the portrait to go to breakfast.

"I think she's _flirting_ with you, Prongs. Better nip that one in the bud." Remus looked a bit disappointed as he gave advice, but James honored him for saying something.

Only a real friend would try to keep a best mate in the clear, right? James felt that that year was _the_ year for him and Lily Evans. He was using her first name and everything, and had been since the first moment he'd seen her on the platform the day before.

"Not worried about that, Moony," he murmured as they followed the American to the Great Hall. "I'm sure Lily set her straight if anything was amiss last night. The tour was rather long, to be honest." He elbowed Remus in the ribs just as they approached the Gryffindor table. "What if she was sussing out the rest of you lot, yeah? Pureblood girl, old family fortune, probably s'posed to be finding some bloke worth the Potioneer's Galleons, yeah?"

"Shite!" Remus stumbled a bit. "No, mate. Really?"

"Really. But you, now, you're a good candidate, I think."

"No, not me. No. It's not safe and—"

"Potter!" James was highly gratified when Lily interrupted and smiled prettily in his direction. "Business handled?"

"Quite, Head Girl."

"Yes, Double-Oh-Seven has a clean slate once more," Dagworth-Granger called from her place across from Lily's usual seat.

Remus sat a bit to her left, but not too close. James rolled his eyes at his friend but forbore commenting. Breakfast foods appeared as they often did, in a casual manner as different students arrived at the table. Soon, though, their Head of House made an appearance with a sheaf of parchments in her hand, and general conversation ceased.

"What's happening?" Dagworth-Granger asked quietly, her head inclined toward Remus.

Moony took a quick sip of his tea. "Er, Professor McGonagall passes out our timetables on the first morning of lessons. How do they do it at Ilvermorny?"

"Oh, so you don't have yours yet?" James was surprised to see her smile. "I thought I was the only one walking in the dark, today."

"Mister Lupin, there you go. You've a free period this afternoon, if you wanted to go over that project we were working on."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Miss Evans. Ah, here you are. Professor Slughorn was very pleased to know he's got you this afternoon. You as well, Mister Potter. And _where_ are Black and Pettigrew?"

"They'll be just a moment. Sirius was having a problem with his tie."

"No, is Black actually going to adopt _decorum_ for the day?" Lily asked, feigning shock before sharing a grin with the new student.

That grin had James wondering, truly, what the girls had talked about on their sanctioned, after-hours tour of the castle the night before.

"Miss Dagworth-Granger. Professor Slughorn was not as pleased over your timetable, I'm sorry to say, but he would like to take tea with you this weekend to discuss a possible internship."

James, Remus, and Lily all spoke at the same moment. "Wait, what?"

McGonagall's smirk was the tiniest bit smug. "Miss Dagworth-Granger has already passed the equivalents of her N.E.W.T.s in Potions, Herbology, and something that I didn't quite have an equivalent _for_. Miss Dagworth-Granger?"

The new girl's cheeks were pink but she pressed her lips together, inhaled quickly, and then said, "Well, it's like pre-med in a Muggle college. What we would take, there, before serving under a Healer for a Mastery. I want to be a Healer. To do some good in the world," she said, her head level but her eyes focused somewhere over their heads. As if she were proud of herself, but didn't want to have to confront anyone about her choice.

James caught Moony's eye. _Well?_ he asked with a look.

His friend had an expression that shifted between awe and a goofy smile. Yeah, he'd have to work on getting Moony to see the benefit of a pureblood match.

If there was ever a werewolf who deserved and—more importantly—could _appreciate_ a pretty swot from overseas, it was Remus Lupin.

* * *

A/N: Nope, still no pairings set. I'm having an adventure. :)


	13. Pureblood Hermione, Part the Fourth

_**A/N:** Ah, now we have Sirius. Thank you so much, folks, for your kind readership of this series of intermittent glimpses. _

* * *

**Advanced Transfiguration, 5 September 1977**

Sirius found himself in a quandary.

He had a reputation, not undeserved, for being . . . _indiscriminate_ in his interactions with the fairer sex. But he avoided Pureblood girls from the old families beyond the most polite and civil social encounters. Though he eschewed the darkness of his birth family, he could not shake his breeding, and he held that _some_ standards had good rationale behind them.

Even if that rationale was simply the knowledge that if a Pureblood girl wanted to, she could petition for a marriage bond if she had sexual intercourse with a Pureblood male. It was just the way the laws were in England. He had actually looked that one up because of some rumors he'd heard about in his fifth year just before Valentine's Day.

Were there laws like that in the States, he had had cause to wonder since Miss Dagworth-Granger had Sorted into Gryffindor? And if so, was she the type to tell her father if . . .?

They were in McGonagall's class; a place where all the Marauders tended to shine. Miss _America_ , there, had passed her N.E.W.T. equivalents, well . . . he could have done so if he'd wanted. Sirius was certain of that. She was just a swot, apparently. A pretty one.

"I did have a question about the Animagus transformation," Dagworth-Granger said. Sirius found himself entranced by the American accent. He didn't even know why. It was so different than what he was used to. Different was _good_. Different wasn't his thrice-cursed _family_.

McGonagall nodded a bit, still obviously not at her ease with their transfer student. "What is your question, Miss Dagworth-Granger?"

"Well, it's more of a procedural issue, really. How much time does an Animagus have until they have to register with the local government?"

Sirius hid a too-broad grin behind one hand. _You can go years, Miss America over there. Years, if you're really careful and run with wolves. Or one wolf, anyway . . ._

McGonagall made a perfunctory sort of sound. "Ah, the Ministry. Yes. Well, due to the nature of the Animagus process, you have up to sixty days after your initial full transformation, provided of course that you can transform back." She lifted a brow at Sirius before shifting her focus briefly to James and Peter. She couldn't know, right? Right? "Was this a field of study for you at Ilvermorny, Miss Dagworth-Granger?"

Miss America smirked just a bit before disappearing from view. But only for a silent, shocked moment. Then, she reappeared on the top of her worktable—as a raccoon.

Chittering, she held up her paws and waved at McGonagall, who was staring at her. Hard.

"Well, then, an American raccoon. They're not native to our island, so if we stare a bit, please forgive our poor manners," the professor said, approaching the Animagus on her table. McGonagall held out a hand carefully and Dagworth-Granger sniffed it before actually shaking hands. Paws. Both. Sirius thought his Head of House might have almost smiled. "I see it was indeed an interest at your former school. You would do well to register as soon as may be then, Miss Dagworth-Granger. Are you registered with MACUSA?"

The raccoon bobbed her head and swished her dark ringed tail from side to side. Sirius snorted. "C'mon there, you need to come back. I have got to find out what you named your form."

After a tiny sort of sound—chattering? something—the raccoon hopped off the table and transformed immediately back into a girl who was regarding him with a complicated air between curiosity and suspicion. "Named my form? What?"

Pete cleared his throat, which got Miss America to focus on _him_ for a moment. Sirius was both relieved and annoyed. When had he ever had to compete with _Wormtail_ for a girl's attention before? "We've heard," Peter said, darting a glance to their professor, "that those who achieve the Animagus transformation name their form for registration. Is that correct, Professor McGonagall?"

"The Animagus transformation is most likely pursued by those who wish to evade the law," McGonagall said, brows lowered as she swept her gaze over the class at large. "I learnt how to do so in order to fully explore the full realm of possibilities in Transfiguration for my Mastery. My form, Miss Dagworth-Granger—" McGonagall slid easily into her feline form, with its square-rimmed "frames" etched like glasses around her eyes. She transformed back whilst Miss America, there, nodded thoughtfully. "Is registered of course. Dumbledore did not, though, name her. Neither have I. There are very few named, registered, _legal_ Animagi in Britain in his century." She sniffed in Peter's general direction. "So no, it's not required."

"Still think the raccoon should have a name," Sirius muttered, not entirely under his breath. What was it Wormtail said she'd been in the States? What House? Right! "Puck! You could be Puck, for your House at your old school!" He grinned, proud of himself for coming up with something.

"Puck was in Shakespeare's _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ ," Remus countered. "Hermione is also a Shakespearean character, of course. In _The Winter's Tale_."

Sirius watched Miss America settle back into her place as she picked up a fountain pen and piece of paper. He'd noticed over the prior weekend that she didn't use a quill and parchment unless it was for class. She'd sent a letter using just a regular Muggle pen, and now she used a fountain pen.

Maybe being a Pureblood, for her, wasn't all about marriage contracts and traditions?

"Now, if there aren't any further questions?" McGonagall asked as Miss America finished taking her notes. "Do advise the Ministry about your form, Miss Dagworth-Granger. As you are of age, you can file the paperwork yourself, or have a parent do it for you, unless you'd rather go through the school."

"I'll do it, thank you, ma'am." She tucked a long, shining curl behind one ear and Sirius felt himself staring at her.

And then, as if she'd felt his attention, she turned to him with one lifted brow as if to ask, _What are you looking at?_

He fought for composure and just smiled a little at her and mouthed _Do you like Puck?_ in her direction.

If she misread his lips, then that wasn't his fault, was it?

* * *

 _A/N: Next glimpse will be from a possibly unexpected pair of eyes. Hoping to get it out by Friday..._


	14. Pureblood Hermione, Part the Fifth

_**A/N:** This one is kind of long . . . for this series, anyway. We're getting a look at Hermione through her father's eyes. And he's gotta have a talk with his little girl._

 _I wasn't sure I was going to post it all, but **Katmom** said it was good the way it is, so . . . here you go._

* * *

 **Hogsmeade, 24 September 1977**

Daniel Dagworth-Granger emerged from a quaint candy store—they called them sweet shops, apparently—by the name of Honeydukes, a box of toffee in one hand, while his wand hand was free. He hadn't attended Hogwarts, nor had his wife, but his grandfather had told him stories about the castle and the local magical town, so Daniel had come prepared to indulge his only child. They had things to discuss, and he knew that candy might smooth the possibly rocky path to come.

The students were mostly dressed in day clothes, though some had black robes, that Hermione had written were the scholar's robes, on over their other garments. He didn't see his daughter amongst the others, so he meandered to a shop she might be visiting: Dogweed and Deathcap. Herbology was something they were both interested in, with her set to inherit one day, and Daniel imagined she'd be there.

"Wait. The Sopophorous plant. You've got to carry it here, right?"

Daniel grinned to hear her voice. _That's my girl_. He slipped in the open door of the shop and waited to see what would happen. It was good to see Hermione. He'd missed her. His wife—Emma, who had passed on five years before—had only been able to have the one child and they'd spoiled the girl a little. Letting her play with plants and teaching her potions from the time she could stand on a stepping stool, showing her how to cast a spell silently, as it was done in America.

He hoped she wouldn't be at a disadvantage here in Britain, with her silent spells.

"I _have_ passed my exams!" she declared, her tone rising in what her father knew was frustration. "Do I have to bring my certifications with me to go shopping, now?"

"No, of course not," Daniel said, deciding it was time to smooth things over. "Hi, sweetheart."

"Dad! Please get this lady to sell me that Sopophorous plant! She doesn't believe I can use it yet."

"Oh, Miss Dagworth-Granger." A new voice preceded another visitor to the small Herbology store, but Daniel paid heed only to the wizened woman behind the counter.

"Dagworth-Granger?" the woman whispered, white brows rising into her forehead.

"Yes," he said.

" _The_ Dagworth-Granger? I knew Hector, you know. He helped me get established here, and . . . so sorry, sir. This is your daughter?"

"Yes." Relieved that the situation had apparently resolved itself, Daniel nodded and paid for the plant in question before turning to join his daughter. She was surrounded by a few young men who were dressed quite well, he decided.

"Miss Dagworth-Granger, I wondered if you could tell me the best method of preparation for the syrup of hellebore?"

"Miss Dagworth-Granger, I wanted to ask your opinion on the properties of aconite in a potion I was designing."

"Miss Dagworth-Granger, are you here with anyone today? I'd like to escort you to the Three Broomsticks, if you're available."

"Oh, it's so good to see you, Hermione! Are the boys pestering?" That came from a just-arrived young woman with deep red hair and more scholarly robes.

Hermione smiled and smoothed a hand over her jeans and her old Ilvermorny sweater. "Um, hi, Lily. Not really pestering, no. My dad's just arrived, see—" She turned then, and Daniel was happy to lift the plant she wanted up for her viewing. "And I think we're going to have some lunch together. Sorry," she said to the boys about her. "But maybe we can meet up in the Library tomorrow?"

Daniel cleared his throat as the young men looked in his direction and Hermione actually blushed. "Oh, shoot. Sorry. Right. Yeah. Um." It wasn't often his little girl got flustered, but he thought it was amusing. "Dad, here are some of my new schoolmates and friends. This is Lily Evans, Head Girl. And this is Severus Snape, who is a budding Potioneer like you. And this is Regulus Black, Scion of House Black, as I understand it?" The young, gray-eyed man nodded respectfully. "And this is Amos Diggory, who is interested in working for their government."

"The Ministry," young Diggory asserted with another of those respectful nods.

"Everyone, this is Daniel Dagworth-Granger, head of our eponymous brewing and development company."

"And her father," Daniel added with a slanted smile.

Handshakes all around were shared before he could get his little girl off by herself. But he persevered.

At length, they were in the same place—pub, he thought it was—mentioned back at the store. The Three Broomsticks. He had his daughter order for them both and then set up a charm that bent sound around them so that they could talk without being overheard. It was something he'd learned from his grandfather's papers; a business secret, really.

"So, what's on your mind, Dad?" Hermione asked, eyes glinting with suspicion as well as curiosity. She sipped at her juice, made a face, but then decided she'd drink it anyway. "You surprised me."

"A good surprise, I hope?"

"Yeah! But what is it?"

"Well, you've been here a few weeks now and I wondered if you'd thought any more on what we talked about before we relocated." He eyed the shepherd's pie before him before carefully diving in with his fork. "Have you met any young men here that would be suitable?"

"Dad!" she protested, her voice a harsh whisper as she darted a glance around. He looked too, seeing a couple of younger men across the pub sitting so as to watch her. He knew body language, sure enough. "I'm only barely eighteen."

He had sent her a birthday present to commemorate the day earlier that week, so he nodded. "An adult. And you're the last of our blood, Hermione. I know it's a terrible weight to have to carry, but it's yours like it was mine." He had met Emma at Ilvermorny. She had been a daughter of the Scamander family, though not the famous Newt Scamander. They'd married shortly after finishing their masteries. "With care, you'll be able to perhaps—" He didn't know how to say what he felt he had to say.

"With _care_ , Dad, _you'll_ be able to outlive me and I can be a Healer and I won't _have_ to—"

"You'll still _have to_ , sweetheart. But give yourself the, er, opportunity to have more than one, you know?"

Heat flared in both of their faces, but neither dropped their gaze.

"So," he said after they had uncomfortably gone back to pretending to eat lunch, "any prospects? The Purebloods here in Britain do things differently than they do back home and I don't want you to have to deal with any surprises, you know? What about those boys back in the store?"

"Shop. If we're going to be British, we'll be British."

"Shop, then. They looked to be . . ." He searched for a word. "Upstanding young wizards."

"They are. There are also a few others . . ."

Daniel covered his grin with the tankard of butterbeer before him. So she _had_ been keeping her eyes open. _Good girl_. "And?"

"And none of them asked me on a date to Hogsmeade this weekend, which is, I understand from Lily, the big interest indicator for dating here. The Head Boy, James Potter—"

"Potter? The Sleekeazy Hair Potion family?" That was both good news and bad news; could they combine families as well as companies?

"That would be him, yes. I've, er, done some asking around. He is not interested in me, Dad. He's very much into Lily." Hermione smiled a little. "I understand he's proposed to her five times but she's never said yes. However, she did come with him to Hogsmeade today. So. See, that's how they do things here and . . ." She shrugged and took another tiny sip of her juice and made another tiny moue of distaste before sliding it away from her.

"Who are _they_?" he inquired without glancing at the boys who'd been watching them. "Don't look. They're across the way and one of them has a scar down his cheek and the other has what looks like a Pink Floyd t-shirt on under his school robes."

His daughter coughed and conjured a glass of water with a few quick motions of her wand. After drinking a bit to clear her throat, she resolutely met his eye. "The one in the t-shirt is Sirius Black and the one with the scar is Remus Lupin. They're both quite intelligent and capable wizards." She laughed a little. "They're _nerds_ , really. They've got a group of their friends called The Marauders or something and there're nicknames and secrets and inside jokes. It's silly but they're having a good time."

"And _neither_ of them asked you to come to town with them?" Daniel would have scowled at the young men but he was pretending they weren't there. "Do you have classes together? Are they younger than you or something?"

"Oh, they're seventh years in Gryffindor, like I am. Severus Snape and Regulus Black are in Slytherin, which a lot of students here think is untrustworthy, but they're respectable guys, too. I mean, the Houses here? Blood purity is a huge thing, you know? More than it was at home. And that matters, apparently."

"They know you're a Pureblood, right? That shouldn't make you non-Hogsmeade-worthy," Daniel mused, trying to figure it out.

His daughter sighed. "I know. But apparently _something_ is. So, no prospects yet, Dad."

"Well, I'll keep an eye open too. Maybe you need an older man."

She blushed and shook her head. "I just want to get my mastery in Healing. Maybe there'll be someone there."

"But if someone asks you to town or something, sweetheart…"

"I'll go, I'll go. If only to show that I'm, what, date-able? Fine."

Daniel canceled the sound-bending charm and leaned back to have more of his butterbeer. "Did you get your registration through for your Animagus form?"

"I did, yeah. The kids in Advanced Transfiguration figure I should name myself Puck."

"That's . . ."

"I know! But . . . it's also kind of cute. I mean, you know. Shakespeare wouldn't object, right?"

Hermione glanced toward the boys he'd noticed earlier and nodded to them. They both sat up straight, and came to the same, simultaneous conclusion.

"Oh, great. They're coming over here. Say nothing about the whole 'reproduce for the good of our bloodline' all right, Dad?"

"Potioneer's Honor," he promised.

* * *

 _A/N: Now. I'm going off for a week - parents and family and so on - but if I think of anything to post, I will. (And I've got the next bit started, and . . . well . . . anyway. We'll see how it goes.) Remember, there's no actual **plot** for this at this point, aside from what her dad wants. _

_But we'll catch another glimpse soon. I hope._

 _:) And if you're able to see the big eclipse? Think of me. I'll be watching it from the Nashville area, Tennessee._


	15. Pureblood Hermione, Part the Sixth

_**A/N:** It really does seem that a lot of fellows are interested in Hermione, but she isn't tuned in to the subtleties that might be obvious to someone raised in the British Pureblood Traditions, so she's waiting for someone to **actually ask her out**. Like they would have done (and likely did!) at Ilvermorny. And if it seems a bit odd for so many young men to be interested, remember, she's smart, pretty, from a Pureblood family, and an unknown quantity. This makes her intriguing, but also intimidating._

* * *

 **On the Way to the Whomping Willow, 27 September 1977**

Remus ached, itched, but he also had a drive within him. A bone-deep feeling of power as well.

He was _randy_.

That happened sometimes on the night of a moon, but he usually was able to overlook it. Ignore it. Push it aside, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that having sex was the very _last_ thing he should do when he felt like this. He could seriously harm a girl and he'd never want to do that. He hated being a monster.

He half-wanted to blame _her_ , but he'd never do that, either.

 _Her_. Hermione Dagworth-Granger. Sirius called her _Miss America_ behind her back and he wasn't wrong. The girl looked amazing in a pair of Muggle jeans and jumper. If that's what they wore at Ilvermorny . . . _Merlin_. Those hips would fit just right between his palms and her breasts would be perfect handfuls and . . . And on top of _that_ , the girl was brilliant. _And_ an Animagus. And she'd apparently gone with the name Puck, like they'd talked about during Transfiguration weeks ago.

A raccoon was a carnivore. He'd researched them. Puck could be safe with the others on the night of the moon.

But. He'd never tell her what he was. He'd never ask her to join them, so her safety was a moot point.

"Shite! Look!" Wormtail slapped Prongs's arm and pointed. "See that? It's her! It's Puck!"

Sirius grinned and Remus wanted to grin as well, because watching Padfoot lose his brain over a girl was far too much fun. He remembered when the met her father, of all people, and how Sirius had been nigh on petrified when they'd been formally introduced to the man. Hadn't hardly said a word.

Until they were walking back to the castle.

 _"_ _She's a Pureblood, Moony! And her father is, as well!"_

 _"_ _Stands to reason, Pads," Remus had said. "Your point?"_

 _Sirius just stood there, tugging at his hair and gaping like a landed trout._

 _"_ _Do you fancy the girl, Padfoot?"_

 _"_ _Well, who doesn't?"_

 _"_ _Prongs."_

 _They had shared a laugh. "Right, not Prongs."_

 _Sirius calmed down a bit and didn't meet his eyes when he asked, "D'you fancy her, Moony?"_

 _"_ _Well, who doesn't?"_

 _"_ _So . . . what are we doing, mate?" Sirius had pushed out a loud, frustrated breath and just stopped, there in the middle of the path. "You saw her, my brother was following her. Snivellus and Diggory . . ." He growled. "Damned snakes. And a Badger."_

 _Remus nodded, amused and relieved that he could be distracted from his own thoughts by Padfoot's obvious discombobulation. "Well, we could ask Hermione to Hogsmeade?"_

 _Sirius sliced a hand through the air. "I don't date Purebloods."_

 _"_ _You don't date Purebloods because you don't want to get married to one. I've heard you often enough."_

 _"_ _Too damned many rules and traditions and—"_

 _"_ _And Puck doesn't have our rules and traditions, Pads. She's . . ."_

 _Gray eyes had brightened and Sirius relaxed completely in one moment. "She's_ different _."_

 _Remus made himself ask, because he was a monster but Sirius wasn't. "So are you going to ask her to Hogsmeade?"_

 _"_ _No._ We _are. Next time we have a Hogsmeade weekend."_

 _"_ _We."_

 _"_ We _."_

 _Though he wanted very much to tell Sirius to sod off, he didn't, because he knew that he really wanted to go to Hogsmeade with Hermione as well. And if it was both of them? She'd be safe, right? Right?_

And there she was, the little American raccoon. "Puck," he whispered, saying that name and seeing the ring-tailed creature pacing back and forth as if she'd like to come find out what her housemates were doing out of Gryffindor Tower that night.

Pain lanced through Remus's torso and he whined a bit with the agony of it. "Guys . . .we've got to hurry."

"Right!" Turning their backs on Puck, the Marauders hurried to the Whomping Willow.

* * *

A/N: Wait, there's more! Well, I'm working on it. Honest. Might be a bit while I'm away, but . . . you know me. I'll get there.


	16. Pureblood Hermione, Part the Seventh

_**A/N:** Still in Tennessee, but heading home soon. I will likely need a "vacation" when I get home from being on holiday. _

_This is an odd installment, perhaps, but here we go. I actually do have an end in mind for this, now, though it might not be evident in this installment. Still no actual plot, but at least I know where I'm going._

 _That's gotta count for something, right?_

 _More to come probably Monday...but 'til then, Happy Friday._

* * *

 **Hogwarts, 24 October 1977**

"Miss Dagworth-Granger!" Severus blushed when Regulus stared at him in amusement as they entered the Infirmary. Still, he persevered. "Miss Dagworth-Granger?"

The girl, tray of empty phials in her hands, looked expectantly at him and Reg and smiled. "Hermione, please. It's easier."

Severus nodded, pleased to have been granted that privilege. "I'm Severus, then."

"Of course." She glanced at the tray in her hands. "Can I help you? I'm kind of in the middle of—"

Severus swallowed hard. "Of course. Your internship is quite important. My Head of House laments your absence, but I think it's entirely admirable, Miss, er, Hermione."

Regulus, the prat, grinned far too broadly. "We both do."

"Right. So? I'm guessing you didn't run up here to commend my internship choices?"

"No, right. Er. So, we're being granted permission to go to Hogsmeade this weekend . . ."

"But I thought, with the latest attacks, that we'd be confined to campus."

Regulus shook his head and Severus envied him his confidence. "No, they want us to be able to go." The younger fellow frowned and rubbed at his arm and Severus did his best to keep his face impassive with the silent reminder of all they were tied to.

But still. A Pureblood witch of such a good family would be the perfect wife, wouldn't she? She wasn't Lily Evans, and Severus didn't _love_ Hermione Dagworth-Granger, but he admired her and respected her advanced interest in his favorite field of study and would do his best to be a good mate to her. He would. If she consented.

And Regulus's mother would be over the moon to have such a daughter-in-law. If Regulus decided to pursue the matter. Not together, no, but there would be some competition for the hand of the fair maid and all that rot, undoubtedly.

He cleared his throat. "So I wanted to ask you to accompany me this Saturday, if you'd be willing to do so. We could go back to Dogweed and Deathcap or Scrivenshafts or . . ."

Hermione smiled warmly and nodded. "Thank you, Severus. That would be nice."

Shock dropped his jaw, but only for a moment. "Well, good, then. I'll, er, meet you in the Great Hall Saturday morning."

Regulus made a formal little bow. "I'll make sure to ask first, next time," he called over his shoulder as he and Severus left the room.

Behind them, Hermione's laughter echoed in the Infirmary.

/ / / /

 **Hogsmeade, 29 October 1977**

"Snakes! What the bloody hell is she doing here with Snivellus and my, my _brother_?" Sirius's felt his ears go red as he lit a cigarette on the shadier side of Honeydukes. Moony didn't smoke, but he joined him in leaning against the outer wall of the shop. Sirius inhaled deeply, angry and annoyed. "She said she had a date, but him? Snivellus?"

Moony sighed. "Got to give them some credit, Pads. She said they asked her Monday. You didn't ask until Wednesday."

"I thought we still had time," Sirius muttered, still figuring it was a "we" involved. He hadn't been at his best, but there'd been the moon and he'd been tired and . . It was hard getting Miss America by herself. She worked in the Infirmary, carried a full class load, and was making herself fast friends with Evans and Brown. It would have been too obvious to pull her aside in front of others. And Sirius Black was not going to be obvious and ask out a Pureblood girl.

He took another drag on his cigarette. "She can't possibly like them, can she? You met her father. Did _they_ meet her father?"

"I don't know, but we did, and he didn't seem to think we were horrible. Neither did she, Pads." Sirius nodded silent acknowledgement of that. Moony pushed off the wall and stepped a bit away. "They're going to Dogweed and Deathcap." He wrinkled his nose and Sirius tugged at his robes. "We could either try to get her attention now or maybe we could get her some chocolate?"

Sirius had to smile at Moony's hopeful expression. "Right then. Honeydukes it is. You're the expert, Moony."

/ / / /

 **Slytherin Dormitory, 4 November 1977**

Regulus's breath came hard and fast as he cast a quick drying charm over the parchment before him.

 _Mister Daniel Dagworth-Granger_

 _Dagworth-Granger Potions Masters & Development_

 _Aberystwyth_

 _Dear Sir,_

 _We met briefly on your visit to Hogsmeade recently to see your daughter, Hermione. I hope to have made a decent impression, as I am here writing to seek your permission to court your daughter._

 _I realize this is perhaps unusual, but as the Scion of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, I felt it behooved me to declare myself early—she is certainly worth every courtesy a wizard can pay—to you so as to assure you and her of the respect in which I hold you and your House._

 _If my suit is not entirely objectionable, please respond and inform me of any courting and other terms that my House should be aware of for the future._

 _With respect and hope,_

 _Regulus Arcturus Black_

 _Scion_

 _House of Black_

Regulus took his sealed parchment to the owlery. He had not yet informed his Patriarch of his intention to offer for Miss Dagworth-Granger, but he felt this was still the right path to take in case his suit was rejected. No sense in pricking the Black pride in the wider wizarding world. If he was rejected, he would not want the honor of his House involved; let it be personal and private.

He was not, after all, in love with the witch. He did, though, respect and admire her and felt with permission, he could court her and see where it led.

Severus would understand, surely.

* * *

 _A/N: **Edit** : credit for this bit happening *first* goes to **nostalgiakills**._

 _To anyone in the path of Harvey - please be safe._


	17. Pureblood Hermione, Part the Eighth

_**A/N:** Lily's a nice person, if perhaps a bit nosy in this AU... And I have no willpower, so I'm posting this tonight._

* * *

 **Head Girl Quarters, 13 November 1977**

"So, we're private, Hermione. What happened? You received that letter and I know it was your father's owl and you were upset. Is everything all right at home?"

Lily didn't know exactly how to be hospitable here in her private quarters. Hermione was not the long-term friend that Alice and Marlene were. She was still new and, for all her willingness to listen and learn, was somewhat aloof at times. Hoping it wasn't a blood status thing, Lily invited the Potions Heiress to her room to see if there was something she could do. After all, James—Potter!—and his friends seemed to be trying to be her friends as well and they could all be friends together, right? Besides, Potions was a strong suit and making connections with a Dagworth-Granger had to be a smart move for the future.

But mostly, Lily wanted to help.

"It wasn't like this back home," Hermione said softly. She didn't sit when Lily indicated the small sofa with its red and gold cushions, but chose instead to stand, letter in hand, brow furrowed as she considered something beyond the confines of the room. "Being a Pureblood, I mean."

"So . . . is this about blood status? I mean, honestly, Hermione, you're practically on par with the Blacks or Prewetts or Longbottoms, right?" Lily decided she'd sit, even if her guest wouldn't, because she hoped it might lessen the tension.

"Do the Blacks and Prewetts and Longbottoms decide to get married so young, here? Is there some sort of, I don't know, Secret Matrimonial Exchange where they make these decisions without even, well, dating?"

Lily bit her lip. "Maybe you should be talking to Potter. Er, James?"

Hermione relaxed enough to smirk. "Double-Oh-Seven. Yeah. He's a Pureblood." She cocked her head. "I'd heard he'd proposed to you. Did he ask your father and all that?"

Lily felt her face catch fire. "No! Well, he proposed, yes," —though not recently, which was something Lily had found herself wondering about— "but he didn't ask my father, no. If he'd been _serious_ , and if I'd been a Pureblood like you? He'd have asked my father first, I'm pretty sure." Hermione only nodded and glanced down at the much-folded parchment in her hands. "Is that what happened?" Lily inquired quietly.

"Someone asked my father for permission to court me, yes. Not Double-Oh, though, so don't even think it was him, all right?"

Surprise flickered through Lily's mind as she nodded at her guest. "Not James, but another bloke? Pureblood?" Possibilities presented themselves one after another, but Lily couldn't think who it might have been. _Severus_ had been with Hermione at the last Hogsmeade weekend, but he wasn't a Pureblood . . .

"Yeah. But I don't, I mean I really _don't_ , even know these people you know? And even though Dad wants me to—" Her face darkened with a blush and Hermione started pacing a bit, which amused Lily a little even through her concern. "I have to consider the family. I have to. I know that. But . . . I don't even _know_ these guys, Lily!"

"Does your . . . does your father expect you to find someone to marry already? You only just got here, Hermione."

"I know. But he's . . . he and my mom met at school and my great-grandfather the Potioneer met his wife here at Hogwarts and . . . it's like a legacy, you know? It wasn't a big deal, back home. Here, though, it apparently _is_ and all of a sudden it's—" She puffed out a breath and scowled. "How do you even date here? Is it just Hogsmeade? Is that _it_?"

Lily smiled a bit and leaned into the sofa cushions. "Well, Hogsmeade is a big thing, yeah. But couples sometimes walk about Black Lake or go to the Astronomy Tower or to Greenhouse Number Six. At least, that's what I've heard." She shrugged. "On patrols, I've caught couples all over the castle."

Hermione was nodding. "It's just . . . I don't want to go to those places with the boy who wrote to my dad. I only went out with them because I told Dad I'd go if I were asked, you know?"

"Severus wrote to your father?"

"No!" Hermione's eyes flew widely open. "I didn't want to say who it was, but it's not him."

Ah, then it had to be Regulus. Regulus had been with Severus and Hermione . . . and he was a Pureblood.

"So, you said you'd date to show you were, what, open to suggestion?" Lily wondered.

"Basically, yeah. It's so damned confusing."

Plots began to form in the Head Girl's brain. "You can ask a boy if you want."

Hermione actually chuckled. "Really? Because sometimes this place feels _so_ Victorian."

"I know!" Lily exchanged grins with the new girl and felt much more comfortable with her all at once. "So, who would you ask?"

"Oi! Evans!"

"Lily? You in there?"

"That's Sirius Black and James Potter," Lily said as Hermione jerked and froze to stare at the door. "Just, erm, sit down, all right?"

"Right."

Lily sighed to see all the Marauders sort of fall through her door. "What do you lot want?"

James nudged Sirius who nudged Peter poked Remus who evidently got the job of actually _speaking_. "Hullo, Lily. We, er, were just wondering if you'd seen Hermione and—"

"Oh, there you are!" Peter declared, waving at Lily's guest. "You all right? You went a bit pale this morning and we were wondering if you'd had bad news."

Lily would have laughed to see the concern that immediately transformed the Marauders' faces if "bad news from home" wasn't all too common this year at Hogwarts.

Sirius looked around the room for an instant before putting his head down as if he were going to duel and crossing the room to the sofa where Hermione had finally settled. " _Is_ everything all right at home, Miss Am—er—"

"Hermione," Lily heard her say. "Please. The surname thing is just so . . . cumbersome."

"She just heard from her father," Lily decided to say, thinking to perhaps prompt one of the boys to do something to help. She thought that, really, Remus might do well to take Hermione to Hogsmeade, but that the next weekend _that_ might happen was right after the next full moon which put Hogmeade entirely out of the frame.

There was a rustle of parchment before Sirius did something that made Lily's jaw drop in shock. _He took Hermione's hand_. In front of them. And she was a Pureblood and he never, ever, dealt with them. "From your father, then? Is he all right?"

Hermione's gaze seemed to brush lightly over Sirius's face before moving to meet Remus's and Peter's and even James's and Lily's own—which she did with a cautionary squint. "He is, thank you. Lily was just . . . making sure I was all right. Thank you, Lily."

Sirius rose to his feet and Hermione stood with him. "So no bad news."

"No, not really. Just, um, unexpected. Lily? Thanks again. I should, I should go." She darted another look at each of the boys. "Thanks for checking up on me? I guess." With a quick smile, she ducked out of the room before Lily herself could even try to act on a plan.

* * *

 _A/N: Yes, there is now a plan. Imagine that. Thank you, everyone, for riding on this one with me. Greenhouse Number Six is a nod to **glitterally.**_


	18. Pureblood Hermione, Part the Ninth

_**A/N:** Still with posting willpower issues. So, here's the next bit. Because when exhausted from long drives, apparently I write and then mislabel things. And then I post them._

* * *

 **Gryffindor Common Room, 22 November 1977**

"Calm down, Pads," Remus advised, one eye on the girls' stairs to make sure to catch Hermione before she went to dinner. "You said we'd do this."

"But now we can't, because . . . we'll all be a bit furry the night before," Sirius whispered.

"So you do it. You do fancy her and you don't want her going with your brother, do you?"

As Remus thought it might, the reminder turned Sirius's head, a flash of fury making his eyes silvery for a moment. "Reg. How did he even dare?"

"Remember what her father said," Remus said, trying to be soothing. "He wasn't going to make his daughter do anything and anyway, any suitor who was going to court his daughter had to understand that one really important thing." Remus congratulated himself to see his friend relax and drop to the nearest chair.

"Right. No way he'd give up the name Black. Our mother would kill him."

Remus nodded and focused both eyes back on the stairs. Hermione's father had told her that he'd written to her suitor and informed him that his attentions were not unwelcome, but that anyone who married his daughter would have to be willing to take the Dagworth-Granger name as his own, to keep the line strong and the name alive.

They wouldn't have known this if Lily hadn't happened upon the letter on her sofa after Hermione had left the room, though.

"Anyway. We have to ask her. But I can't go, remember. So maybe we could ask her and then I'll just get sick. You know, like always."

Sirius snorted and shook his head. "All of us are a bit sick the next day, Moony."

"But you don't have to be. You could, could sit this one out."

"Or we could tell her and she could spend the night with all of us," Sirius said with a playful leer up at him.

Remus wanted to laugh, blush, and push him off his chair. All at the same time. "No."

"All right, I'll ask. We'll ask. We, remember."

"We. I remember."

Remus saw her foot first. Small, shapely in a black loafer-type of shoe. She wore tights and the uniform skirt and jumper under an open robe. Her hair was loose, he saw, the curls just as appealing to him as they'd been the first time he'd seen her. And when she saw him—which she did, almost immediately, as Sirius had made sure they were standing where they would not miss her—her eyes lit up with a smile.

The smile had Remus smiling back in a confident sort of manner even as his heart skipped and raced inside of him. "We," he whispered over Sirius's head as his friend moved to stand up.

"We." Sirius grinned at the girl. "Hello there, Hermione."

"Finally got rid of the surname. Thank you. Hi, Sirius. Remus."

"Can we walk you in to dinner?" Remus asked, joining Sirius in flanking her and effectively keeping anybody else away for the time being.

She appeared nonplussed but nodded and Remus offered her his arm because Sirius was slow to do so. As soon as they got our of the common room, though, Sirius broke six years of personal boundaries by tugging Hermione aside. "We were late last time," he said abruptly. Remus could tell he was nervous by the total lack of charm exhibited. Sirius Black was, in most things, charismatic.

Just not when asking a Pureblood girl to Hogsmeade, apparently.

"We were," Remus said in reinforcement and his own wish to make an impression. "So we're hoping not to be, today. We wanted to ask you come to Hogsmeade this Saturday."

To his great relief, she didn't bolt away. "What, the pair of you?"

Sirius nodded, meeting Remus's eyes with a gleam in his own. "For a girl who can go by the name of Puck, shouldn't be a problem, yeah?"

She blushed but smiled. "Fair enough. So?" The light in her eyes was a challenge.

Remus figured it out first. "So, Puck, will you come to Hogsmeade with us this weekend?"

She eyed them playfully before pretending to whistle and then answered, "On one condition."

Sirius looked nervous and Remus remembered with a pang that he wouldn't get to be with her in any event; he'd be recuperating and all this playfulness would not be his. He tried not to let his feelings show on his face, though, as he asked, "What?"

Hermione darted a look around at the students on their way to the Great Hall and then asked softly, "What are your Animagi names? I can sense you, you know."

Remus just stared at her in surprise. Sirius, though, rallied a bit. "So, er, you saw us that one night, right?" He met Remus's eyes and indicated with one eloquent brow that he should just play along. "Out by the willow?"

"I did! And I wanted to follow but the tree practically attacked me! What kind of trees do you grow here in Scotland, anyway?"

"Magic ones," Sirius replied with a mischievous smile. "You gave us one name, we'll give you one name. And if we do, will you go with us?"

"Fine," the girl said and Remus silently applauded Sirius's maneuvering.

"I'm Padfoot. A big, black dog."

"More like a Grim," Remus said, also keeping his voice quiet. "But he won't bother Puck. So, you'll come?"

"Thank you. Yes. I'd like that very much," she said.

"Great!" Sirius exclaimed.

They sat on either side of her at dinner and Remus did his best to keep her attention. After all, Sirius would be getting her all to himself on Saturday.

"I never knew you were such a flirt," Lily mentioned that evening when he made his report after his rounds. She grinned, her green eyes twinkling as much as the headmaster's ever did. "Poor Hermione won't know what hit her."

"Poor Hermione my arse, Lils," Remus retorted, hitching himself up to sit on her desk. When it was just the two of them, he and Lily Evans, they were a lot less formal. She felt, to him, like a sister. The sister he'd never had. "The girl has lads panting after her in every house. She knows exactly what she's doing."

Lily shook her head. "Not here, she doesn't. But," she added before making a note on the parchment before her, "she certainly is a quick study."

Remus decided to do all he could to be a quick study himself. Especially on the subject of Hermione Dagworth-Granger.

* * *

 _Note: I really have no plot, here, in case you were looking for one. Just writing these glimpses. It's so weird, for me. Thank you for being supportive._

 _Oh. There are more in the queue. I'll tell you when I reach the end of my ideas with this. :)_


	19. Pureblood Hermione, Part the Tenth

_**A/N:** No, I have no idea who all the unidentified voices belong to. They're just getting Glimpses of Hermione. And Sirius. :)_

* * *

 **Hogsmeade, 26 November 1977**

"Is that Sirius Black?"

"Is _that_ Hermione Dagworth-Granger?"

"He never dates Purebloods!"

"I overheard Evans tell Potter that both Black and Lupin asked her to Hogsmeade this weekend."

"Merlin! Both of them? Be still, my heart!"

"So where's Lupin?"

"He's sick; I heard he was in the Infirmary when I went to have my charms renewed."

"You'd better be so glad Pomfrey will do those for you. The way you carry on."

"I do not!"

"You absolutely do! I saw you and Black, you know. Coming out of the cupboard near the tower at the end of last year."

"Bugger!"

"Oh, is _that_ what he was doing?"

"Sod off."

"Cor, _look_. Black's taking her hand, now. He really does know how to do the thing up right."

"Never did with me."

"You're not a Pureblood."

"Good thing, too. He never, _you_ know, with Purebloods."

"Well, he might with that one. Have you ever known him to go to Dogweed and Deathcap before?"

"Merlin, he's doing it up brown, yeah?"

"Look at her, though. Who knew she'd smile so much? I never see her like that."

"Do they all wear those . . . those trousers in America?"

"They call 'em 'bell bottoms' I heard. Evans was talking about that, actually, in Transfiguration. Clothing transfiguration."

"Did McGonagall have kittens?"

"Almost!"

"Sorry . . . the fact that she's a feline Animagus . . . having kittens . . ."

"I'm going to _Aguamenti_ you if you don't quit laughing."

* * *

"So, thanks for coming with me today, even if Remus couldn't make it." Sirius held her hand and felt stupidly proud of doing that much. She was different. So very different. Never once mentioned his family, for one, and the girl had a laugh that made him half-hard every time he heard it. Next time, he'd wear robes or a heavy overcoat if he took her out. The Muggle jeans and black leather jacket didn't quite do the job.

"Thanks for asking me, Sirius. I hope Remus is feeling better when we get back. I'll go check on him. I was going to stay today, but Madam Pomfrey said that being an Intern didn't mean I had to miss Hogsmeade when it wasn't an emergency of epidemic proportions."

Her fingers slid through his pleasantly and he did his best to focus on the feeling, not on staring at her. "He's usually back in the dorm after a day of bedrest," he murmured, watching the way her hair fell over her shoulder and wanting to bury his nose in the curls.

"So, he's sick often, then? Might you even say _monthly_?"

Sirius jolted, pulling his hand out of hers and feeling all the blood leave his face. "Shite," he muttered. "Shite, shite, shite." He started running, needing to get back to Moony and tell him the wolf was out of the bag, but she caught him.

"Padfoot! Remember who I am. Remember _what_ I am. I can smell it on him and I'm not stupid." She grabbed his arm and held him hard when he would have pulled away again. "Wait. All right?"

"How long?" he demanded. "How long have you known?"

"Since last moon. I was there with Madam Pomfrey. I took an _oath_ , Sirius Black. He's my _patient_ and his condition is _confidential_."

"You knew? And you agreed to come with us both?"

She tossed her head and Sirius had to smile at her visible irritation. "Of course. I figured you had a reason for both of you asking—which I haven't sussed out yet, but I will—and when I checked the calendar I decided to go anyway."

His chest flooded with something that felt warm and . . . safe. Like the first time he'd come to Hogwarts. The first time he'd awakened at Potter Manor on holiday. "You're amazing," he murmured, moving to take both her hands in his own.

"No, just observant."

"Trust me, Puck. You're amazing."

"So . . . can I come with you next month?"

He laughed, throwing his head back and turning so that he had an arm over her shoulder as they resumed their walk back to the castle. "Well, that's during hols, but we'll push for January, all right? You, me, and Moony."

"Peter's something, too, right? And Double-Oh-Seven?" He stared at her but she smirked. "Just because I'm from the States doesn't make me a complete rube."

"Right enough."

* * *

"No. Way. He's kissing her!"

"Black? Is kissing Dagworth-Granger? No shit?"

"Damn, well, I guess I owe him five galleons."

"Who, Black?"

"No, not telling."

"I'm not believing any of this unless I see it during the week. Hogsmeade is . . . different."

"Fair point."

* * *

"Hey, Moony."

Sirius muffled a snort as his best mate the werewolf muttered something obscene as he turned over in the hospital cot. Miss America was there on the other side of the cot, checking the empty phials and smelling the one with an amber fluid in it. "Puck knows."

"Shit."

"No fecal matter passed my lips, Moony," the girl whispered, bending over Remus's scarred face. "Promise."

"No, but I did," Sirius declared in a smug sing-song.

* * *

 _A/N: Sirius can't help being smug._

 _Yep, there's more to come. :)_


	20. Pureblood Hermione, Part the Eleventh

_**A/N:** It occurred to me that I've mostly discounted the whole "We're at war" thing because this is a fluffy little series. But you know me. I gotta try killing someone. Or at least making someone bleed! This is a bit longer than usual for these guys but I couldn't divide it._

 _Also, thank you so much, everyone. Your delightful comments make me smile. American Pureblood Hermione is probably shaking her head, but *I* am vastly enjoying myself._

* * *

 **Dagworth-Granger Ancestral Manor, 30 December 1977**

Daniel Dagworth-Granger folded the missive from Albus Dumbledore. He really didn't want to join any Order out to oppose anyone; he was here to continue in Potions Development and keep the family in good standing in Britain. Even Hermione had bowed to the inevitable, or so he'd understood.

And there were other, darker requests that had been made.

 _"_ _I heard your daughter was not yet betrothed," Lord Malfoy had said last week when Daniel had had business at the Ministry. "There are many families—strong, with good ties—who would be interested in allying themselves with your House, Dagworth-Granger." And then, "Someone, someone of great power, could use a Potions Master of your calibre. And we understand your daughter is equally gifted. This same powerful someone would show her great appreciation were she to . . . make herself available."_

The insinuations had not gone over his head, and it had been all Daniel had known how to do to keep from shuddering.

He didn't tell Hermione about any of it.

"Er, hullo? Dagworth-Grangers?" The voice calling through the open Floo was young and male and it partially banished Daniel's misgivings. "Did I get the proper address?"

"Hello there. Yes, it's the Dagworth-Grangers. Who is this?"

"Oh, hello, sir. Remus Lupin. We met in Hogsmeade a few months ago."

"Lupin." Good lad, Lupin. "Come through, then, lad."

The young man emerged and wordlessly banished the ashes from the hearth. Daniel approved the silent, wandless display of magic. He was about to speak again when Lupin cleared his throat.

"Is Hermione here?"

"Yes, indeed. I'll call for her."

"I can," Lupin assured him before producing his wand and sending an actual corporeal Patronus into the room. To his credit, he only looked a bit smug when he told the shining silver wolf to "Find Puck."

"That was impressive, Mister Lupin."

"Thank you, sir. I, er, am trying very hard to do well on my exams of course."

"Of course."

"Not that anyone can compare with your daughter, sir! She's in a class all by herself. Sometimes, literally." He rubbed at the back of his neck and shrugged a bit. "Keeps us on our toes."

"Remus!" Hermione hurried into the study, her eyes bright and smile warm.

Daniel had to get a hold of himself for a moment. That was his little girl, looking like Christmas had come again when she saw a young man. Well, now. He should probably investigate this Remus Lupin character.

"What brings you here, Remus?"

"Er, I wanted to invite you to the Potters' New Year's Eve party, Hermione. Sirius would have come as well, but he got last Hogsmeade so it's my turn."

Hermione's blush amused her father a great deal even as he cleared his throat. "So. I'll just, ah, leave you to it, then. Good to see you again, Lupin. Hermione, update me when you're ready."

Daniel left, but he didn't close the door behind him. He knew his daughter was an Animagus, so if she could sense him close by, he didn't worry about that as he hunkered down close enough to hear what might be _said_ but far enough to _not_ hear what might be _done_.

Because his daughter was eighteen and he wasn't a fool.

"Update your dad?"

"Yeah. Let him know about the party and all."

"Ah."

"Yeah. So, your turn, you said?"

"Well, I was sick the last time you agreed to go out with us . . ."

"Right. Can I get you something? Wine, maybe?"

Wine? His daughter was offering a young man alcohol? _Hermione_ . . .

"No, no thank you. I just, I missed you."

"Oh. Well. I missed you, too."

"Sirius misses you as well."

Daniel heard his daughter laugh softly and he wondered what the hell was going on. _Sirius_ Black. That was the young man who'd been wearing the Pink Floyd t-shirt in the town months ago. The _brother_ of the one that had written to court Hermione.

Hermione had written to say she wasn't going to be seeing Regulus Black but she hadn't mentioned _Sirius_ Black. _Hmmm_ …

It had been suspiciously quiet for a bit long and Daniel smirked, pushing himself up to his full height again. Then he heard, "You should probably know, Remus, that I have a duty to, to my family . . . I mean, I'm not trying to be presumptuous but I'd hate like anything for anyone to be hurt, you know?"

"Ah, yeah. Well, as to that, Miss Dagworth-Granger, we already caught wind of the name issue."

"Oh?"

"You left a certain piece of parchment under a cushion in Lily's rooms."

"Oh. Well. Fine. Just so it's not going to make things . . . awkward."

There was a laugh. Low and masculine. "Oh, I daresay we have enough awkward already, yeah?"

It got quiet again and Daniel shook his head, pleased that the young man was thinking of the future, but also quite curious. He was on his way to leave the two of them alone for a bit, though, when he heard a commotion behind him.

"Dagworth-Granger!"

The small exploding sounds of multiple sources of Apparition filled the Manor, insofar as he could tell. Over in the foyer, some breaking furniture in a bedroom and the kitchen and—

"No! Get out! Who are you?"

The study. And his daughter was in there. With another student. Daniel couldn't even _breathe_ , for a few heartbeats.

" _Expelliarmus_!"

" _Bombarda_!"

" _Stupefy_!"

" _Avada Ke_ —"

A shriek. "No!"

 _Hermione!_ Daniel was there, wand out and trying desperately not to show how terrified he was. He was not raised to combat. He was a Potioneer, damn it!

But he had an advantage. Americans cast silently. He sent a wordless sweep of his wand behind him, pushing all the approaching masked men off their feet in what he hoped was a stunning hex that would serve for more than a few minutes. In the study, he saw two more masked men, one of whom had his daughter around the torso, his wand to her throat.

Daniel had to take a breath. What to do to keep her safe? He sent another silent stunner in that man's direction, but the masked intruder was already shielded. So perhaps his daughter was as well. All right.

The other intruder was fighting with Lupin, who brandished a maple end table before him like a medieval shield. They were engaged in a duel until Daniel shot a piercing charm toward the attacker, catching him from behind—where he did not have a shield in place. Down he fell, blood pulsing from somewhere near the kidneys.

Lupin dragged in a quick, ragged breath and turned without thought to the other masked man. "You!" He cast spell after spell at the man, all aimed for the lower body, and Daniel joined him, edging as close as he dared to perhaps go for a physical attack.

Remus Lupin beat him to it, though, jumping across the room with a low, guttural sound. The young man reached actively for Hermione, breaking the masked man's wrist as he did so, to get the wand away from Hermione's neck. "Stupid," Lupin growled, kicking the newly barefaced man as he fell. "Only single-shielded." More words, words Daniel didn't want to know and wouldn't have condemned if he did, flowed from Lupin's mouth as he kicked the intruder into unconsciousness.

Daniel held his daughter close. "Are you all right, sweetheart?"

"Yeah, but Dad, we have to get those guys bound up or something. Where do we take them, here?"

"Call the Aurors," Lupin advised, casting more spells on the men in the study. "Hermione? Did he hurt you?"

Daniel reluctantly relinquished his daughter into Lupin's care. "There are more out there. Can you get her someplace safe, Lupin?"

"Of course, sir. I'll take her to the Potters, if that's all right. Their home is warded enough to repel You-Know-Who."

Daniel snorted at the need for the euphemism, but nodded. "Fine. You do that. Hermione? Is that all right?"

"Lily's there," Lupin said softly.

"I'll be fine, Dad." Hermione hugged him hard and then let Lupin lead her to the Floo. Trusting that the young man would take care of his daughter, Daniel turned to the others in his house. Piercing charms for all of them.

And then, he'd call the Aurors.

* * *

 _Note: And breathe!_

 _Gonna try for more fluff next time...And dancing!_


	21. Pureblood Hermione, Part the Twelfth

_**A/N:** To the Guest who mentioned that Canon Hermione wouldn't have frozen up or been taken hostage in the last chapter: Yes, very true. But American Pureblood Hermione is miles away from Canon Hermione. She was not raised to excel in Defense to keep her best friend alive. She was raised to excel in Potions to support and succeed in the family business. _

_So the last installment was a bit harrowing, perhaps, but I promised dancing next and here we go..._

* * *

 **Potter Manor, 31 December 1977/1 January 1978**

"You're shaking, Padfoot," Puck murmured under her breath as they danced slowly about the Potters' ballroom. "Are you okay?"

Sirius clenched his fingers into her robes and tried to get the tremors to stop. "I'm fine. Furious, but fine." He inhaled deeply of her scents: the fresh green of mint, the smell of lavender soap, and a bit of chocolate. The combination calmed him a bit.

"Remus did so well. You would have been proud of him. I was."

"But your home . . . you . . . what . . ." Yes, she'd told him everything she'd extracted from her father. Yes, she was fine. Yes, Moony had been the hero and everything, just like in a Muggle film. But still . . .! "Is your house warded, now?"

"Dad actually sent an owl to the Goblins. I think they said they'd handle it right after the new year. For a fee."

"Of course. If you need any extra for that, I have Galleons in my vault." Sirius pushed air out his nose and pulled her even closer to him. He heard her sigh near his shoulder. "We should talk," he said.

He really wanted to find out what she'd thought about his brother's letter. To tell her that Regulus was probably one of _them_ , like half of Slytherin. Like the men who'd invaded her home. Like _who knew how many people_ in the Ministry. To tell her that he would never want that for her. That Pureblood standards were fine, but people were more important and even a blood traitor who'd been kicked out of his family would be a better choice than a blood purist. Hell, a werewolf was a better choice, as well! But none of that could be said in a ballroom.

"Probably," she agreed, but her body tensed under his hands. He loosened them and eased them apart. Maybe a finger's breadth, but apart. "Before the next moon, anyway."

"What?" He had to think and then he remembered and laughed a little. "Right. The next one. The twenty-fourth. Having a healer about might be helpful, come to think of it."

She rolled her eyes a little. "The thought had crossed my mind, yeah."

"May I cut in?"

Sirius managed not to growl at Prongs. "Fine. Just behave yourself."

The music transitioned to a foxtrot as Sirius reached Remus near the "children's table". So designated because it had non-alcoholic punch and small, decorated biscuits. As an adult with eighteen years to his credit, Sirius felt silly hanging about there, but that's where Remus had been. The chocolate biscuits were notably missing, which explained the attraction to the table.

"I should probably ask Lils to dance," Remus said, swirling a cup of punch about.

"Or you could ask Hermione." Sirius snabbled two biscuits. "She agrees we need to talk and she's making plans for the twenty-fourth." Remus froze for a moment before nodding slowly. "I think, mate, you and I should talk before we talk with her."

They turned to follow Hermione with their eyes as she danced and laughed with Prongs. "She's so pretty," Remus whispered. "I feel almost presumptuous, you know? Should we do like, like Regulus and write to her father?"

Their focus shifted to a group of adults talking far too seriously in one corner. Hermione's father, the Potter parents, Pettigrew's parents—both of them, which was a surprise—and even Xenophilius Lovegood were there, frowning and nodding and sipping Ogden's Finest. "We already know he's open to her being courted," he murmured at length. "And we know about the Dagworth-Granger precedence. Would that be a problem for you?"

"Not even remotely. You know my father . . ." Remus sighed and tossed back the rest of his punch. "He's basically of the opinion that no werewolf should be allowed to marry and procreate."

"Well, that's a load of shite," Sirius shot back. "He wants the Lupin name to die?"

"He does if the future patriarch is a werewolf." Remus put the crystal tumbler carefully on the snowy tablecloth next to him. "Do you really think Puck's dad will be willing for his little girl to marry someone like me?"

"You saved her from a Death Eater, Moony!"

"But he didn't know, then. Doesn't, now, either. I mean—my own father can't stomach the idea, so—"

Sirius moved to stand directly in front of Remus blocking his view of anyone else in the room. "Dagworth-Granger wants his daughter to be happy. You saw how he acted with her earlier tonight, yeah?"

"Yeah. And . . . can we make her happy, Pads? Or can you?"

"We, mate. _We_. I want to . . . I want to try. Don't you?"

Remus shifted to watch Hermione get handed off to yet another dance partner. Perhaps she sensed they were staring at her, for she found them with her warm, cinnamon-brown gaze and smiled.

Of course, they had to smile back. Even if she _was_ dancing with Kingsley Shacklebolt at the moment.

Sirius couldn't seem to find his smile so easily, though, when Charlus Potter started calling the countdown to the New Year. "Come on," he insisted, pulling Hermione away from the ballroom where everyone else had gathered. "Remus is waiting for us."

"I have to ask you something," she said as he found the small parlor where he and James tended to hang out during holidays. The room was dark, save for a candle in the center window that normally offered a view of the orchards. The overstuffed chairs and occasional tables were shapes and shadows, still in a place that felt distant and removed from the merrymaking elsewhere.

Remus beckoned to them and Sirius ushered Hermione across the room until they were all gathered near the solitary candle. He circled his arm around her shoulders as Remus took her hands.

"What did you want to ask?" Sirius whispered. Whispering was the only appropriate thing, even as he heard "Thirty! Twenty-nine!" in the background.

"Am I getting a New Year's kiss? I really hoped so when I accepted this invitation."

Startled, Sirius reminded himself that she really was different that any other girl he knew. Remus snorted a laugh as well.

"Twenty-Five! Twenty-Four!"

"Yes. Two, if you want them," Remus said.

"But first, we wondered if we could go to Hogsmeade with you again."

"And have a snowball fight when we get back to school."

"And show you the best snogging spots where we never get caught."

"Nineteen! Eighteen!"

Sirius watched her features carefully as they made suggestions for even further activities, and he saw only pleasure curling her lips, a light in her eyes, and encouragement in the way her skin heated enough that he could feel it.

Remus let go of her hands and slid his hands behind her neck, pulling her gently forward. Sirius, though, couldn't bring himself to let her go and he decided that, yes, he could do this. Be part of a "we", here, with Moony and Puck.

"Three! Two! One!"

"Happy New Year," Sirius whispered as Remus claimed her lips in a kiss that took, Sirius considered, entirely too long. She sighed and wriggled between them, which did nothing but make Sirius long for his own turn.

So he took it, as soon as Moony had to breathe. Turning the girl about, he lifted her up a bit, feeling the velvet of her dress rub against his leather trousers—Lily had given him hell about those, but Missus Potter understood utterly—as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She tasted like . . . like _her_. Perfect. Delicious. Wild but sweet.

Remus's hands were there as well, helping to support her, and Sirius could feel the way the werewolf was breathing in her scent and nuzzling her hair.

And he wasn't, in any remote way, jealous. Sharing with Moony seemed like the best thing. Maybe he hadn't been what his family wanted— _Thank you, Merlin!_ —but he knew himself to be a good friend. A trusted Marauder. And he could see himself in a relationship if he knew he had support in the form of a close friend.

"Happy New Year," Puck whispered at length as they let her down, slow and easy, between them. Remus made an urgent motion with his head behind her and Sirius nodded.

They still had to talk, he and Remus, but Sirius felt sure that many of his concerns weren't going to be big ones, after all.


	22. Pureblood Hermione, Part the Thirteenth

_**A/N:** I want to apologize (sort of) to everyone who is expecting this to be a real story with actual ends tied up and stuff. (What happened to the Death Eater Invaders? Aurors got 'em and no one of note died. What does Severus think of Hermione's suitors? He hates them, of course. But he's not jealous. Etc.) If I had planned on writing an **actual** story, I would have figured that stuff out. But I didn't. This is just American Pureblood Hermione who is kind of having to choose a husband so she can continue the Dagworth-Granger line with as many continuations as she can handle, apparently. And it's only seen through the eyes of others, never Hermione. Because I'm contrary, like that._

 _As you can see, the date is now in late March, so the school year is winding down a bit._ _In my head, things are proceeding apace in the romance, but no formal overtures have yet been made to Hermione's father. However, the "understanding" likely pervades the relationship amongst the Marauders._

 _Which brings us to Minerva, who knows all and tells little._

* * *

 **Hogwarts, 24 March 1978**

Minerva McGonagall withheld a smile by dint of long practice as she spied the seventh years accompanying Mister Lupin to the Shrieking Shack. When the boys had, years ago, decided to begin the process to become Animagi, she had known it. They could have held the mandrake leaves in their mouths over a holiday, but they'd done it during term. She was sure it was to make more of a challenge. The young men were rather like the knights of legend in that regard.

Foolish. Romantic. Heroic. Even Lupin, for all that he was a werewolf, was heroic in his staunch determination to excel and triumph over the condition that ruled his life.

They were illegal Animagi, but she never informed on them and indeed covered for them surreptitiously when they'd been foolish.

Animagi should never, ever, get near alcohol. Especially illegal Animagi. And most especially illegal Animagi who are underage! She thought of the "antlers in the railing" incident with a certain annoyed smirk.

Still, she told no one what she knew. Proud, she was. Amused as well. Minerva did have a sense of humor, after all.

She was also, in her own way, fond of romance. Seeing Potter finally "get the girl" that year had been heartwarming. Head Boy and Head Girl—maybe one day Husband and Wife?

Lily, not quite the rule-breaker her boyfriend was, had been working with Minerva to accomplish the Animagi transformation herself. She, though, had kept her mandrake leaf month a secret at her home in Cokeworth. The better to surprise Potter and the others.

Now, there were two young women joining the young men and somehow, impropriety never entered Minerva's understanding of what happened there over the nights of the full moon in the first quarter of 1978. After all, they might have been spending the night all together but they were doing so with a werewolf.

Not the sort of circumstance to encourage any illicit relationships. None of them could be human whilst with Mister Lupin on nights such as these, Minerva understood.

The Heads held hands as they stepped through the snow, followed closely by the three who had somehow maneuvered themselves into an unusual relationship since they'd come back from the winter holiday. The trio held hands as well, with Miss Dagworth-Granger in the middle.

Hermione Dagworth-Granger, the Last of Her Name and Maker of Men.

How an American had done so much for that ensemble was something Minerva didn't fully grasp, but the truth was that the dynamic had changed when the Potions Heiress had Sorted into Gryffindor. Pettigrew had been drawn to the new girl and had ceased courting the notice of some in _other_ Houses. His marks had improved as well, and that was all to the good. Sirius Black, that scamp, had ceased his rebellious march on the virtue of the halfbloods of all the Houses—she hadn't been able to catch him, but she knew—choosing instead to focus on Hermione Dagworth-Granger. And Lupin was happy. Visibly happy. It was a sight for the sore eyes of the Deputy Headmistress.

She watched them each month as they made their way to the Whomping Willow. Oh, by rights she should have been escorting Mister Lupin, but he was no danger to anyone. And if he did by some weird freak of fate start to change, he had a phalanx of friends ready to surround him and compel him to safety. And one of those friends had dangerous antlers.

The group ducked under the suddenly still willow tree and Minerva shook the parchment in her hand, returning her attention to it.

 _Minerva McGonagall_

 _Gryffindor Head of House_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 _Scotland_

 _Dear Madam,_

 _Please forgive my intrusion upon your day. My daughter has had nothing but good to say of your administration of her House and your teaching methods. And if she's happy, I'm happy, of course._

 _My purpose for writing is mostly due to a lack of contacts here in Britain. My daughter is indicating interest in two young men—interest I have encouraged in theory—but since I have spent all my life in America, I am not familiar with many names and connections and hoped you could see your way clear to enlightening my perceptions as I will need to make decisions of my own regarding Hermione's future. If a man were applying for a sensitive position in my company, I would investigate him. How much more, then, should I investigate a man who wishes to court my daughter?_

 _So, if you have any information regarding Remus Lupin or Sirius Black that you think a careful, loving father should know, I would so appreciate knowing it as well. I won't require my daughter to marry without love, but I will want to know that that love is in good hands._

 _If you feel this stretches the boundaries of propriety or good taste, I do understand. I have contacts in the Ministry, but that is rather more public than I wish to be at present in this delicate matter._

 _Thanking you for your time, I remain most cordially,_

 _Daniel Hector Dagworth-Granger_

"What do I tell the man?" Minerva muttered to herself, Summoning a bottle of Ogden's and pouring herself a dram. "Well, not about the affliction, no. If Remus chooses to tell him, that is his decision. I shan't. I can discuss his status as Prefect and his fine academic record and demonstrated loyalty towards his friends. That much, I can do. And Sirius? That boy." Minerva eyed her empty glass and sighed, putting it down and reaching for a quill. "How much does a 'loving father' need to know?"

She wrote out the direction and began with "Dear Sir" before she knew exactly what she'd tell Miss Dagworth-Granger's father about his daughter's potential suitors.

* * *

A/N: My thanks to **Katmom** for reading the letter in advance and letting me know it was good and to **Margareitha Malfoy-Nott** who gave me the "Last of Her Name" bit. I changed one word, but her line in a review made me chuckle and I had to include it.


	23. Pureblood Hermione, Part the Fourteenth

_A/N: Happy Labor Day to my readers in the States!_

* * *

 **Shrieking Shack, 24 April 1978**

Hermione's features were set in the morning light that slid weakly through a slatted window. She had a Muggle pencil and a Muggle pad of lined paper at the ready as she sat cross-legged across from him. Remus sighed a little, aching in every part of his body, but he also knew she was applying her mind and considerable skill-set to benefit him so he was loath to complain.

 _He didn't remember much, but he remembered some things… Hermione, eyes glowing in the dark shack, kissing him soundly before darting off to a corner to change into Puck, Padfoot standing protectively before her as Remus began to feel the agony of the transformation…_

"Where does the pain start, exactly?" she asked, pencil poised to write.

He sighed. "First, I feel it in my long bones and my chest. It's like a knife."

She nodded, lips pressed together as she made notes. "Does it subside before another bout of pain or does the pain roll over like an avalanche?"

Good questions, and Remus made himself consider the answers as brown eyes went wide with a sudden memory before she shifted and offered him two phials of potions. He drank one down. "The first flare is by itself, and it usually happens just before I see the moon. Then, within minutes, it's like an avalanche. Good choice of description, that," he added, lifting an empty phial in silent salute.

 _He awakened naked, yet surrounded by his friends. Prongs and Felina were James and Lily again. Padfoot was still Padfoot; protective, watchful, silver eyes alert even as he had his head resting on Hermione's thigh. Hermione was fully human as well, but mostly asleep, fingers combing through Padfoot's fur whilst she nuzzled Remus's bare chest. The expression of such acceptance moved him deeply and he wrapped one aching arm about her midsection, awakening her._

She nodded briefly. "Okay. Have you ever tried taking Dreamless Sleep just before the moon? To keep you unconscious during the transformation?"

Surprised, Remus shook his head. "Never been offered that. Never thought of it either. I guess, I just hate what I am so much I fight it. Every single time. Hermione, why are you asking?"

"Well, I've been watching you, since January, you know. I can't think of any way to remove the _were_ -factor, so I'm trying to think of a way to make it easier on you. See," she went on, her tone becoming charmingly professorial, to Remus's ear, "we tense up when we are having pain because we are naturally afraid of it. But when it can't be avoided, then sometimes pain can be eased if we quit fighting it and let it wash over us. Like in childbirth. There's a . . . thing called Lamaze I was studying."

Remus felt himself go bloodless. "Childbirth?" They hadn't had sex, but the immediate sense of panic was nevertheless there.

With a tender sort of smile, she reached between them to take one of his hands in her own. "I know my dad wants me to get started early and often and all, but no. Not yet." Her cheeks flared as she added primly, "Not unless Immaculate Conception is an option."

 _Brown eyes opened with a smile and they shared a chaste kiss before Padfoot became Sirius, got Remus's clothes from the cupboard, and tossed them across the room. Their Pureblood Potions Heiress never once looked away whilst he dressed and Remus cursed the curse that made him too tired to even respond to her._

"Er, no?" Remus faltered before shaking his head and redirecting his thoughts from getting Hermione pregnant. He and Sirius were meeting with her father on the next Hogsmeade weekend—likely the last, with what had been going on—and he did not want to be even thinking about sex whilst in conversation with her father. "So! You're wanting me not to, what, fight the pain?"

Not possible, he told himself, but it was kind of her to want to help.

"Well, make it so that the pain isn't an obstacle for you." She tapped her pencil on her thigh. "I know that the physicality of your transformation is horrendous, honey. I do. But I've also seen your tension ratchet to incredible degrees. You are so strong, Remus Lupin. So _very_ strong. A lesser man would have given up trying to be all that you are, but you haven't." She leaned toward him before dropping her writing utensils and moving to embrace him though they were both seated on the floor. "I love you."

It was the first time she'd said those words and Remus felt something inside of him spring open with warmth and surprise. "Really?"

She laughed a little and braced herself on his shoulders. He managed not to sway, even though he was quite exhausted from his transformations. "Of course. Really. Probably ever since you kicked that Death Eater into a bloody pulp in my library."

He wrapped his arms around her, then, and pulled her in close. "Sirius said it was all James Bond film worthy."

"Double Oh Seven has nothing on you, Moony."

Of course, he kissed her, but only for a moment. "Sorry, love. I just can't . . ."

"I know. Come on. We'll get you to Madam Pomfrey. Sirius is probably still in bed. He and Prongs got into it last night and Wormtail couldn't do a thing about it without endangering himself."

One of _those_ nights. Remus winced as he accepted her help to stand. "You know, what Prongs needs—"

"Is Felina." Bambi's sweetheart in the Disney movie, and the name of Lily's Animagus doe form. "And a broom cupboard."

"They've their own dorm!" Remus protested as they left the shack.

At length, they reached the Infirmary and Remus settled in next to Sirius, who was apparently revising for his N.E.W.T.s whilst propped up on two pillows on a cot. "Oi, Sirius. Where's James?"

"Nursing a broken nose. Start in on me, will he . . ." Remus decided he didn't want to know and Sirius decided to turn the conversation. "Hello, love," he called to Hermione. "Pass any exams, today?"

"Not yet, but it's still early," she quipped. "I do have some brewing to do, but first," she went on, holding Remus's hand with one of hers whilst reaching for Sirius with the other, "I want you both to know that you're taking me to Hogsmeade this weekend."

* * *

 _Note: Next time: Hogsmeade to meet with Daddy D-G. But first, they have to talk to HER. It is time for this to get hammered out into a workable solution, yeah?_


	24. Pureblood Hermione, Part the Fifteenth

_**A/N:** The big moment is actually not all in one post. Sorry/Not Sorry. You know I post early and often...right?_

* * *

 **The Three Broomsticks, 29 April 1978**

 **"** **Talking to Her Father Means Talking to Her First"**

"You cannot possibly expect me to believe that you're going to talk to _my_ dad, about _me!,_ _without_ me being there!"

Sirius opened his mouth but no words emerged in his own defense. When she'd declared they were taking her to Hogsmeade, they hadn't had a chance to put their heads together, he and Remus, to tell her their plans. And when they tried to, the week was mad, and revising sessions and Remus's rounds piled up one on another and then their nerves—where was their bloody Gryffindor bravery when they needed it?—abandoned them until they'd told her in Hogsmeade itself that they were meeting with her dad, rain or no rain.

Hermione had a water-repelling charm cast about the three of them as they stood just outside of The Three Broomsticks and it was clear she'd withdraw it and subject Sirius and Remus to the downpour if their answer didn't suit her.

They loved the girl. They did. And she was usually very even-tempered—for a raccoon. But when she got hot under the collar, it was best to beware because the magicals in the States cast silently, which was disconcerting for a Hogwarts-raised wizard.

Sirius was grateful when Remus managed to sound sensible. "We're trying to observe the proper traditions," he said, his tone formal. Sirius nodded and they each took one of Hermione's hands. "McGonagall let slip that he'd written to her, you know. And she had to say something."

Hermione's irritation, Sirius saw, instantly turned as her focus did, arrowing upward to one of the parlor windows. And she didn't remove the charm that kept them dry, either. "Oooh, Daddy. You are in so much trouble." Her cheeks went pink as she met Sirius's eyes. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know. He shouldn't have."

Sirius put his free hand up in a plea on behalf of her intimidating father. "It's not at all unexpected, love. Remember, I'm a Pureblood as well, and in Britain, this is how it's done." Through the rain, he could barely make out a dark shape lurking not far away and he thought it was Regulus. "Come on, let's go inside where it's dry to talk, yeah?"

"I'll cast Daddy's sound-bender." Sirius opened the door for her and Remus, hand on her back, escorted her inside the inn. They found a corner table and Hermione took her wand and flicked it about a bit and nodded in patent satisfaction. "Good. Now. What are you talking about with him?"

Sirius felt his own cheeks heat as he darted a glance to Remus, who went a bit pale. "Well," Sirius said after taking a breath. "We were going to ask him if one of us could marry you."

Hermione's determined expression slid into defeat, making Sirius's heart clench—something that sounded so daft and cliché that he would have derided the notion if it hadn't happened to him just then. "But . . . I thought . . ." Her words were whispered, indistinct, which wasn't at all normal.

Remus stood and immediately went to their witch, lifting her up bodily, sitting in her chair, and settling her on his lap in a gesture so perfectly comforting that Sirius wanted to cheer. "We want to marry you," Remus said, his tone definitive. "We know your father's been poking about—"

"What? More letters? I'll hex him into next week!"

"No, love, wait. That's perfectly fine with us," Sirius said, reaching across the much-polished wooden table to take one of her hands. "We expected it."

Nuzzling her hair, Remus added, "The only thing we're still not sure about is how to tell him about . . . Moony."

"You're registered, you said, so it's not a big secret," Hermione said, her tone subdued and serious. "And we know it's not a problem. I've done research, you know, and the lycanthropy isn't going to pass on to any children you'd have."

Sirius had to smirk a bit when both Moony and Puck blushed anew. "He's an adept wizard, you know. So am I," he added with an overplayed toss of his head. He could feel his hair fall against his shoulders and enjoyed how Hermione's eyes focused on it for a moment. She had not been shy, these past few months, in showing that she liked the way he and Remus looked. She was never crass, but she wasn't coy, either. It wasn't in her, he had decided. "So we're meeting your dad, who is probably waiting for us in a private parlor upstairs already. To see which one of us your father would permit to marry you."

She wiggled to get off of Remus's lap and stood, eyeing both of them with some asperity. "And you weren't going to ask me?"

"Hermione, sweetheart, of course. But we wanted to have your father's—your _Patriarch's_ —consent first."

"To show respect," Remus clarified when Sirius's explanation seemed to fall flat. He cocked a brow at her. "Did you think our intentions weren't strictly honorable?"

"Well, there _are_ two of you."

Sirius didn't know what to say, so he looked to Remus, who shook his head.

They had talked of it, he and his best mate. Some Ancient and Noble Houses, perhaps, could have a plural marriage, if the heir of the House had to replenish the bloodlines and wanted to take two wives to do so. It was unusual, but had been known to happen. But a woman? Taking two husbands? Magic had managed many startling things, but not men giving birth to provide heirs for a woman's bloodline. So Hermione Dagworth-Granger would not be able to legally wed more than one man. Yet, it had been very clear to the three of them—and their friends—that they were a triad.

 _"_ _Pads, Moony," Prongs had said in the dorm one night whilst Puck was helping Wormtail and Felina with their Herbology homework involving nocturnal bulbs, "have you even asked her to choose which one of you she'd rather, you know, be with? You can't both marry her."_

 _"_ _What, you want one of us to step aside? You think one of us could?" Remus demanded, standing in a rare show of Pack dominance that had even their human forms breathing carefully. "She's ours, Prongs._ Ours _."_

 _"_ _We've talked about it, a bit," Sirius had muttered. "I mean, I've been blasted out of the Black family, yeah? And Remus doesn't think he's_ worthy _or some shite." Prongs rolled his eyes. "But we can't, mate. Not unless she says, anyway."_

 _Remus had fallen heavily to his own bed and pulled a pillow to his stomach. "She said she loves me."_

 _"_ _She said she loves me, too."_

 _Prongs snorted from Wormtail's bed. "Can't the girl make up her mind?"_

 _"_ _She shouldn't have to choose!"_

 _"_ _She's_ safer _with both of us," Remus argued less angrily. "Pads can keep an eye on me if I go all . . . wolf on her." He sighed. "Which will probably happen when we, you know . . ."_

 _"_ _You haven't?"_

 _"_ _Not yet, no. We haven't spoken to her father."_

 _"_ _Ahhh." Prongs had blushed and risen to his feet. "I don't think Lily expects me to do that, but yeah, Puck's dad will."_

Which brought them to today, Sirius reflected, standing to hug their witch. She embraced him, then Moony, then both of them together before saying, "Right. So let's go up. You're not doing this without me."

* * *

 _A/N: Next up, actually having That Big Talk. No, really. Then, maybe I'll write one more installment that shows What Happened After or something. Or two. We'll see what I come up with. Thank you all for letting American Pureblood Hermione be a thing for a while. :) Did you want to know about the eventual ceremony, however it turns out? Kids? Distant future and the Line of Dagworth-Granger? Let me know and I'll see if I have any notion as to what it looks like._


	25. Pureblood Hermione, Part the Last

_**A/N:** Wow. Basically I see my idea of Glimpses of American Pureblood Hermione ending in this chapter, so it's about twice as long as the others have been. Thank you all so much for going along with this with me. I had such a good time!_

 _However! I am writing a series of Future Glimpses that will post in the coming days. Kids, ceremonies, and a more distant future as well._

* * *

 **The Three Broomsticks, 29 April 1978**

 **"** **Talking to Her Father"**

Remus broke out into a cold sweat as they climbed the stairs to Room Two at the Three Broomsticks. Two. Ominous number, that. Because they were a triad.

Weren't they?

Possible ways he could and likely would eff the next hour up kept running through his head.

 _Thank you for agreeing to meet with us today, Mister Dagworth-Granger. Did you happen to find out I'm a werewolf already or did I just completely ruin myself in your good opinion?_

 _Good afternoon, Mister Dagworth-Granger. Thanks for coming to meet with us. We both want to marry Hermione, but we're having a bit of a disagreement. Sirius thinks I'd be a better husband and I think he'd be a better husband, and your daughter thinks we'd both be better husbands but that's not legal._

 _What, sir? A werewolf? Me? Oh, saw that, did you? No, sir, I promise never to bite your daughter. During a full moon, I mean. Shite, didn't mean to say that_ …

Hermione didn't wait for them to catch up to her; she didn't even call for her father first. She just held her hand at the door and it opened for her, silently. "Daddy!"

Remus cast a quiet cooling charm over himself, followed by a quick laundry charm his father had taught him when he'd been younger. Sirius blew out a breath but didn't seem to be suffering from the same set of nerves that were buzzing under Remus's skin. His heart was pounding, hard and heavy. He was panting, dry and desperate, and he had to stop it.

"Pads," he whispered whilst still on the threshold of the room.

Sirius turned from where their witch was giving her father a piece of her mind. "Shite, Moony." He flicked his wand and murmured a low-level Cheering Charm and Remus immediately felt better.

"Thanks."

"I'm charming, what can I say?"

"Yes, that is the report I've received about you."

Remus froze and Sirius gasped a bit when Hermione's father addressed them. He heard Puck whisper an admonishment to her father, but it went unnoticed by the others.

"Oh?" Sirius finally managed.

The older wizard waved them in and shut the door behind them. Chairs were indicated and Hermione stood, as there wasn't one for her, glaring at her father until he transfigured the hat rack into a chair for her. "Look, sweetheart, I'd rather you not be here at all," he said as she sat sternly down.

She lifted a brow. "My boyfriends. My life. My duty to produce progeny, right? So I absolutely have to be here."

Mister Dagworth-Granger sighed, patted her on the knee, and then turned deliberately back to face Remus and Sirius. "So, I've been asking around, as my daughter is quite taken with you both."

Remus kept his mouth shut to see if Sirius would find something smooth and charming to say.

"We're quite taken with her as well, sir," Sirius said smoothly, nodding to their witch, who offered them a small, nervous twitch of her lips. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us today."

As if they'd had a choice, Remus reflected. Aloud, he said, "Did you have any questions for us?" Best to get it over with, if he was going to take serious issue with his little furry problem . . .

"Your intentions?"

"Marriage," Remus and Sirius declared simultaneously. They hadn't planned for that to just burst into the room that way, but it had, and even Mister Dagworth-Granger looked amused.

"Good. But. There are concerns," the older wizard said, leaning forward in the only upholstered chair in the room, elbows on knees. "First, you must know that I am determined to keep the name of Dagworth-Granger alive. Hermione is preparing to be a Healer, I know, but she is also preparing to take her place as the Potioneer should circumstances warrant it."

Remus flickered a glance to their witch, who nodded once.

Sirius cleared his throat. "We're aware, sir, that any man fortunate enough to wed your daughter would be required by marriage articles to take the name of Dagworth-Granger for his own."

"Merlin, sounds like a Jane Austen story," Hermione muttered.

Her father half-turned toward her with a shushing gesture. Remus was not a little surprised when she settled back, lips resolutely pressed together.

"And you're prepared to change your family name for ours?"

"We are," Remus and Sirius said, not quite in unison but close enough.

A look from the older man had Remus wanting to clarify. "Sir. My father has never, er—"

"Dad!"

"Hermione Jane!"

"Sir," Sirius interjected, hand up as if to stop a quarrel. "If you've been checking up on us, you've likely learnt a great deal about us. Such as me being charming," he said with a self-deprecating smile. "Or Remus's . . . illness."

Dagworth-Granger's brows rose briefly into his forehead. "I have indeed. So, Mister Lupin, you're prepared to leave the name of Lupin behind? Is your family?"

Remus felt an ache tugging at his chest, a sad feeling of broken inevitability, but he persevered. "Sir. My father would rather our line die with him than to continue it through the headship of someone . . . like me."

"A lycanthrope," Hermione's father said, as if putting it out there would make it more real than it already was.

"Yes, Dad, he's a werewolf. He was bitten as a child, a _pre-schooler_! It's not like he can do anything about it."

With a tight voice, her father ground out, "I know, Hermione. Enough." To Remus, his voice was more smooth. "So you're willing to be Remus Dagworth-Granger, and have all children you sire take on the name of your wife?"

Remus nodded, though the idea of siring children still made him nervous. "Hermione has assured me they'd be unafflicted with my . . . curse. I'd be more than happy to relinquish the name of Lupin, sir."

"And you, Black? Noble and Ancient House, they say here." The Potioneer leaned back, his tone less smooth as he spoke to Sirius. "Your brother certainly couldn't deny the rights of my House fast enough."

Tension thickened the air in the room and Remus met Hermione's wide brown gaze with some alarm. Sirius, though, just laughed. A derisive sound, but it served to ease the room a bit. "Regulus is our mother's son. I'm not even on the family Tapestry any longer."

"So I understand from . . . a knowledgable source."

McGonagall! Remus knew it had to be her.

"This _source_ tells me, Mister Black, that you're brilliant but a troublemaker. A staunch friend, and loyal to those whom you claim to be yours, but vindictive to those you perceive have wronged you. You do, however, belong to an Ancient and Noble line and men of those lines don't tend to be amenable to relinquishing their House for a woman's."

"My brother, as he probably told you, is the Scion of the House of Black, sir," Sirius said, his tone edged with just a bit of defiance. Remus hoped it wouldn't be detected by Hermione's father. "So I have no problem with taking Hermione's name."

Mister Dagworth-Granger nodded once, as if he'd heard something he'd expected to hear. "Hermione understands her duty to her bloodline and she knows she is expected to carry it on."

"Dad," their witch said, her voice low and rasping through the flat, Americanized vowel. "Enough!"

"No, sweetheart, your suitors have to be perfectly clear as to the situation." He inhaled sharply and thrummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. " _Are_ you? You said you wanted to marry my daughter. But she can only marry one of you. Who is supposed to make that choice, do you think, gentlemen? Me? Hermione? Or will one of you step aside?"

"I want them both!"

Cacophony ensued and Remus and Sirius exchanged a look as father and daughter went nose-to-chest in their argument.

The father put his hands on his daughter's shoulders after the flurry of words ran its course. "You can't marry both. Only one."

"But they can both give me children, and a variation to the bloodline is a good thing," she countered. "And I love them both. I can't abandon one and keep the other. That would be . . . a breaking of the Pack!"

The point stilled the Potioneer so that he stepped back and stared hard at Remus until Remus felt the sweat trickle down his spine.

"Sir?" he ventured.

"Pack. This has to do with her Animagus form. I know you are as you are, but what is this Pack?"

Sirius coughed and took a step forward. "We're, erm, that is I, erm. Sir. I'm an Animagus as well, but not exactly registered."

"So the three of you are a Pack?"

"Yes," they all said at once, Hermione with a glint in her eye that both worried Remus whilst it made Moony howl with glee.

"I'm, well, the Alpha male," Remus admitted, feeling his cheeks go red. Hermione, though, beamed at him and sighed happily. That gave Remus the courage he needed to continue. "And they're my Pack. And we spend the full moons together, both of them helping me get through it. Sirius is a huge dog—"

"A Grim, really," Hermione interjected.

"So he's the protector," Remus went on. "And Hermione of course is our Healer, so she's available to help even before Madam Pomfrey arrives in the mornings. It's . . . safe, sir. Safe for all of us." No mention was made of Prongs or Wormtail, as neither of them were registered. Neither Remus nor Sirius would out a fellow Marauder without permission.

"And I'm working on a new potion for Remus, Dad," Hermione said, rolling up on her toes in enthusiasm. "To help him through the transitions. So, see, we're already a good partnership. All _three_ of us."

"But only one can be a legally bound husband," Mister Dagworth-Granger reminded them, shifting his upholstered chair and beckoning them all to do likewise so that they sat in a circle. "The other can be, what . . .?"

"A consort, maybe," Sirius murmured, studying his hands with far too much attention. "I just had a thought. Hermione? Would you cast that sound-bending charm of yours for Remus and me for half a moment?"

Remus's mouth went dry. What was his best mate thinking? Heart thudding, he nodded and met Sirius's silvery eyes when Hermione indicated they were covered by her charm. "What is it, Sirius?"

Sirius ran both hands through his hair and turned to face him fully. "You have a bond with Hermione. The Alpha thing, right?"

"Yeah. Happened the first time she joined us and then the next morning . . . I mean, it's not full, yet." They'd still not had sex, so the culmination of the bond wouldn't happen between them until they had. It hadn't been necessary with Sirius, but then their friendship was deep enough that Remus never questioned it. "But it will be, won't it?"

"Of course! What I'm thinking, though, is that you have a bond with her. I, I don't. Not really." He swallowed, his eyes pained but also with an edge of longing that touched Remus at a basic level so that he could feel it himself. "What if I married her officially? And the two of you could have a formal, what, Marking? Then we'd both be bonded to her."

Remus felt a bit cautious, but Moony thought it was a grand idea, he gathered from the way he could feel his eyes shift to gold and his own sexual heat rise in a hopefully non-obvious manner. "I can do that," he answered, his voice a low growl. "But she has to agree."

Congratulations went 'round the room when she did and Remus felt no compunction whatsoever in kissing her heartily whilst Sirius and the Potioneer made arrangements to meet with solicitors and whatnot.

He would have Hermione.

Probably first.

"Are you really all right with this, honey?" Hermione whispered, her fingers curled into his robes as she stared seriously into his eyes. "Me being your wolf's mate and Sirius being my official husband and all?"

"I love you. Moony adores you. And Sirius loves you as well. We'll make it work, Puck. We will. We'll work out the fun stuff later. But I will tell you," he said, gathering her more firmly into his embrace, "that I am very much looking forward to making _us_ bonded Mates. The sooner the better."

Her eyes glowed and her lips parted. "Oh. Me, too, Remus Lupin. Me, too."

Then, Sirius came for his first kiss as official fiancé and Remus shook hands with Mister Dagworth-Granger—

"Call me Daniel."

—Daniel, and he was given to understand that, though he would not be a legal spouse, he would in all other ways be given equal consideration in all documentation and so on.

"Hermione would insist, if she weren't already, um, occupied," Daniel said with a crooked smile. "So, we'll make it happen. Welcome to the family, Remus."

"Thank you, sir."

They ordered up a late luncheon before the Potioneer left the inn.

Remus and Sirius flanked Hermione on their walk back to Hogwarts, hands entwined, walking in step, but rather quiet under the mist that lingered from the earlier heavy rain.

Before they reached the gates to the school, Hermione stopped and pulled both of them to her. "Are you all right with this? Both of you? I love you and I don't want either of you to think I don't, not for any reason or in any way. I feel all, well, jumbled, you know?"

"I think we all do, love," Sirius said, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing her palm. "But we'll settle in, I think. I love you. And I will be honored to be Sirius Dagworth-Granger to the end of my days."

Hermione's face turned pink and she blew out an audible breath. "Whew. That's . . . wow. Yeah. That'll take some getting used to."

Not to be outdone—and foreseeing a playful lifetime filled with such moments—Remus cleared his throat. "I love you. And I am honored to have you as my Mate." He was gratified when Hermione once again exhibited that embarrassed, pleased expression.

"Oi! Puck!" Peter called, waving as he ran up the path to them, brandishing a package of some sort. "I found some more of those bulbs at Dogweed and Deathcap!"

"Excellent! We'll start preparing them tonight, if you want, Peter."

And then James and Lily came and joined them and Hermione shared her excellent news with the rest of the Marauders Plus One.

Remus let Hermione and Peter walk on ahead whilst he kept Sirius a few steps behind. "We owe Professor McGonagall flowers or something."

Sirius laughed, a big, barking sound that was filled with joy. "We certainly do!"

* * *

 _End Note: Thanks again for joining me on this little adventure. More will come before too long. - LJ_


	26. Pureblood Hermione: Taking the Pain

**_A/N: Thank you again for your kind response to American Pureblood Hermione. Following . . . well, as I get them written and stuff, I suppose . . . will be several glimpses into the future of the Dagworth-Grangers._**

* * *

 **Taking the Pain Away**

Sirius stood, incredulous, when he entered the formerly vacant room in the castle. "Well, if anyone ever harbored any doubts, love, they'd know now that you are truly a Dagworth-Granger."

His Hermione, his _fiancée_ —a title that still occasionally made him stand still in stupid pleasure and pride—looked up from her work table. "Hi, sweetheart!" Her smile flashed brightly, the look of a woman who had her life under control and was happy to share it. "Yeah, I ordered some equipment from Dad to set up a bit of a lab, here, to work on that potion for Remus."

"Oi, Sirius!" Peter turned from a different table, bearing a cutting board with chopped . . . stuff. "This has been fascinating, working with her. She's designing this whole new approach for deep bone pain. Amazing work."

"And he hasn't wanted to translate my American into English all morning," Hermione said with a wink. In truth, she was slowly acquiring an accent, but when anyone said something, she resolutely shifted back into her just-landing-from-the-Portkey American. Sirius found it all very amusing; he'd likely do the same if he were in her boots.

Approaching her work station, he asked, "So? How's it coming?"

She bit her lip. "Well, I tested it on myself, you know. Last night."

"You what?" Sirius frowned as sternly has he knew how, worry and fear jolting through him. "Hermione!"

"I was with Madam Pomfrey. It was safe and I'm fine, see?" She turned her head this way and that before bending to light a fire under her small cauldron. "It worked well, but it tasted like, well, the refuse on the bottom of a boot or something, so I'm trying to see if I can fix that."

"Anise seeds and honeycomb," Peter volunteered, using a small bronze knife to separate the ingredients from his chopping board into distinguishable portion sizes. "And we're using all bronze, nothing silver, so none of the ingredients will be . . . a problem."

Briefly envious of Peter's proven interest in potions—Sirius was no slouch, but his interests were in Transfiguration and Defense more than brewing—he nodded. "Good. So will he be up for trying it Monday?"

"I hope so," Hermione said with a tentative smile. "I hope it'll help."

"Couldn't make it worse," Sirius replied feelingly. He'd seen Moony's agonies and anything that could even take some of it away would be a gift from Merlin. Or Hermione.

He waited until she reached a pause in her brewing and then slid behind her, wrapping his arms around her body and nuzzling her neck beneath the updo she had created with her sexy mass of hair. With a wink at Peter, who blushed, grinned, and found something to do on the other side of the makeshift laboratory, he slid his hands under her school jumper and blouse until he reached soft skin. "Mmmm, and if it doesn't help entirely, this really will," he whispered. "Just having you there with us, with him, will make the morning easier."

When the next full moon came, they all went out to the Shack. All of them wanted to know if Puck's potion was successful.

"Ready?" she asked Moony.

Moony smiled a little, his eyes sliding from green to gold. "As I'll ever be," he murmured, taking the phial from their witch. He tipped it back and swallowed the entire dose in one go, running his tongue over his lips afterward. "Honey?"

"Yes, dear?" she quipped, eyeing him carefully. "Now, you'll want to get out of your—oh, dear."

Moony had dropped to the floor of the Shack, still fully dressed. "Prongs," Puck directed, her eyes never leaving Moony's face as she knelt beside him, "transform now. Padfoot and Felina too. Wormtail and I will stay human for a few, to make sure he's not suffering any ill effects." She flashed Sirius a grin that made him feel he'd been a big help with this. "My paws are pretty agile, but they're not up to passing along potion blends."

Sirius changed into Padfoot, and he and Prongs stood over Moony's prone body as the moon rose. "All right, she's up," Peter reported with a gesture meant to indicate the moon. "How's he doing?"

Moony twitched, and then his hands and feet started to transform and Hermione swore under her breath, something about being a raging idiot and a "turkey", whatever that meant, since none of them were actually birds. As quickly as she could, she tugged Remus's clothes from Moony's body as he transformed.

The werewolf whimpered, but didn't actually awaken and Peter grinned. "Puck! You did it!"

"I just wonder if I can get Moony to take it later . . . if he wakes up."

And, after half the night, perhaps, Moony did awaken, his aspect distracted and surprised. But he wasn't in any pain. He just shook himself, sniffed everything and everybody in the place, and then was up for a subdued game of Pack Tag.

Felina won.

When Puck produced the second potion, scavenging it from a small satchel in the cupboard, and poured it into a saucer, Moony didn't know what to do with it until Padfoot himself took a risk and pretended to drink it himself.

Their friend passed out again until sunrise.

They celebrated all the way through breakfast.


	27. Pureblood Hermione: Claiming the Mate

A/N: Ceremony Number One, after a fashion... This one might be considered "mature" in nature, so . . . be advised.

* * *

 **Claiming the Mate**

 ** _20 June 1978_**

It was the final week of exams, but the date with the Moon was not something Remus could avoid. He had arranged to take his N.E.W.T.s for History of Magic and Transfiguration in advance, so he was free for the 21st to recuperate.

Not that he required as much recuperation time as heretofore, thanks to his Mate.

His Mate!

"You all right there, Moony?" Padfoot inquired. It was just sunset, and he was already heading toward the Shack. Puck would be joining them shortly. Just the three of them, that evening. Because tonight, before the moon's rising, there would be a consummation. A finalization.

Moony was going to take his Mate, so he growled a bit at Padfoot, but didn't run him out of the room. Even though his feral side was dominant, he recognized that his Pack mate was there to keep their Mate safe. In case he, Moony, put her in any danger whatsoever.

He'd never want to! But . . .

He paced, loosening his tie, not feeling the moon yet—which was good—but his body burned with the usual pre-moon sexual drives. They seemed stronger this month. Hormones, maybe. Or the fact that this month, tonight, those drives would be satisfied. He hoped he wouldn't hurt anyone.

A familiar and beloved scent slid into the room.

"You have his potions, Hermione?" Padfoot asked.

"All set, Sirius." She smiled, smoothing down her school robes. Remus frowned. She rarely wore those outside of the castle proper, and appeared a bit nervous to be wearing them at the moment. "You'll be staying with us, right?"

Remus started a bit. "Yes! Of course he will. Right, Pads?"

His best mate and future co-bonder-with-their-witch nodded smoothly. Remus was stressed, felt as if he might pass out, but at the same time . . .

He wanted her. Needed her. His body ached . . . for _her_.

Sirius cleared his throat and adopted a submissive sort of posture that Moony recognized. "Anything I need to know, Remus?"

"Just don't, don't touch her, all right? Not 'til morning. I mean. I, we, I don't want to hurt anyone." That the animal inside of him needed to claim territory was exciting and arousing, yes, but it was also uncomfortable to entirely rational, entirely human mind. He offered both Sirius and Hermione an apologetic look. "I'm sorry."

Hermione pressed herself against him, arms tight about his torso. "Do not apologize. I love you. We've talked about this. We'll be fine, right, Sirius?"

"Absolutely love. You get a Mate, I'll get a wife this summer, and we'll all settle in happily ever after."

Remus nodded. "Good. Right then."

But now that it was time, he felt frozen, unsure of how to start. Sirius chuckled, turned from them and found a spot on a tattered sofa. "Kiss the girl, Moony. It's all right."

Kiss the girl. He'd done that. They both had. Both had done a bit more than kiss their girl, too. Remus laughed. "I'm such a berk."

Then, he picked Hermione up and kissed her, tasting the chocolate she'd had before they'd come down. Honeycomb and dark chocolate, he thought. Tantalizing, fulfilling. And then there was her . . . just her . . . _Mate mate mate mate…_

She whimpered quietly into his mouth and something in him snapped. Before he could tell himself to slow down, slow down!, Moony was tearing his clothes off, watching as his Mate unfastened her school robes to reveal . . . nothing. She wasn't wearing _anything_ underneath them.

"Holy hell, Hermione. Warn a man, will you?" Padfoot whispered from the sofa. Remus only shot him a glare to remind him to stay where he was. Padfoot didn't move save to loosen his trousers a bit. Moony didn't care what their co-mate was doing, so long as he wasn't touching Hermione during their ceremony.

"Hermione," Remus said, his voice a need-filled growl. "I'm going to claim you as my Mate. You understand this?"

"I do and I am. I am your Mate tonight and will be Sirius's wife later this summer."

"Later, right."

"No stepping back from this," Remus warned, hands shaking with the need to touch her.

"No stepping back for you, either," she countered with a smirk. "You're mine."

 _Hers!_ He lunged for her, feeling the smooth heat of her skin, smelling the beckoning scents of her burgeoning arousal—his Mate wanted him, badly—feeling her hands move restlessly over his shoulders and into his hair. He nuzzled her throat and she sighed.

Moony was not a delicate lover, but he was extremely thorough. He tasted every bit of her, marking her with his skin and scent before he claimed her irrevocably. Her virgin blood made him howl with delight of the proof that he'd been her first.

"Careful there, Moony." Padfoot said, his voice soft but strained from the sofa.

Their Mate was tense, her voice careful, when she said, "I'm all right. I am."

Moony calmed a bit, then, realizing his Mate was not experiencing his pleasure, so he bent himself to that, relaxing her, making her sigh, then moan, then nearly howl herself as her body shuddered around him. And when she cried for him, well before moonrise, he bit her at the juncture of her shoulder and neck, Marking her as he spilled his seed within her.

Remus drew in a long breath, lying on the blankets they had brought for the occasion, wrapping himself around her. "You all right, love?"

Her laughter was more felt than heard. "I am. You?"

"Oh, more than, yeah. Sirius?"

"That was . . . hot, there, Moony. Anyone got a cigarette?"

Remus relaxed, stretching his limbs a bit and rolling to his back, bringing Hermione with him. "Thank you. I love you, you know. Hope it wasn't too hard, there."

"Oh, I'd say it was just as hard as it had to be," she responded, her fingers grazing over his reawakening heat.

Sirius coughed. "So, you said I had to stay away 'til morning, Moony?"

Remus considered it, looking at the bite that was already scabbing over, though it would never heal, on his Mate's body. "Actually . . . Hermione?"

"The more, the merrier. I am one lucky witch."

They had time for one more round before Remus succumbed to the inevitable and took his potions. He didn't remember what happened after that . . . but in the morning, he took reassurance from the smells of sex that permeated the Shrieking Shack.

It had always been a place of imprisonment for him. A reminder of all that was bad about his life. Horrible pain and suffering happened in it. But now, he had new memories to add. Memories of acceptance, love, and really, really amazing sex.

Not a bad way to end his Hogwarts career.

* * *

 _A/N: I have two more of these future-takes partially drafted and three (or four?) noted down to write, but I don't know if they'll be a daily thing next week as they have been thus far. News from my publisher (I write! Imagine!) has me scrambling a bit over here and that takes priority for a while._

 _If you're in the path of a hurricane, be safe. I've been through a few myself. Hide from wind and run from water, okay?_


	28. Pureblood Hermione: Completing the Triad

_A **/N: Look! Gossip! And a wedding! And maybe a surprise or two!**_

* * *

 **Completing the Triad**

"I _hate_ Portkey landings."

"Best way to get out here to Wales, though, and really, would you want to miss this?"

"Lucky witch. Sirius Black was my go-to fantasy for years."

"There he is! Look!"

"He's so fit. He and I, you know, christened a broom cupboard in his sixth year."

"Younger man, love? Really? You?"

"Shush. It was . . . she is one lucky witch, I say."

"Look, Remus Lupin is standing up with him. Why didn't I notice how fit he was, back in school?"

"It's the robes. You know, some used to say there were orgies with the three of them and the Head Boy and Girl last year."

"Speak up, love, I can't hear you. Why not announce it to everyone?"

"Orgies!"

"Stop it, people are staring! Look, there's the Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore."

"Is he officiating their bonding?"

"That would be why he's standing up there. Hush, you!"

"Oh, look, there's the bride. You know, she doesn't even _look_ American."

"Her father's dishy. Widowed, right? Hmmm."

"Cor, no! He's old!"

"There's Professor McGonagall. Why does she have a bouquet of flowers? No one else does, save Hermione."

"What is that? There just about on her shoulder? Looks like . . ."

"Merlin! Was she bitten?"

"Looks like it to me. By some _thing_ or some _one_ , I wonder?"

"Lucky witch . . ."

* * *

Sirius felt like his chest was going to come through his dress robes as he saw Hermione coming toward him in the midst of their wedding gathering. In less than a year, he had done something he never would have believed of himself the summer before. He'd fallen in love. With a Pureblood girl. With an heiress, to boot. And he begged—basically—to be her husband. To relinquish the name of his Ancient and Bloody House.

Finally! This was better than getting blasted off the Tapestry!

James and Peter were standing in his ceremonial circle, that would be used for the Bonding Rite. Remus was there as a given, as co-Mate and all that. Sirius smiled a bit to himself, remembering the wild side to their white-robed bride. Her robes were cut away from her throat and collar bone, revealing her Marking from her mating ceremony with Remus. They had discussed it together and she wanted to show it, not being remotely ashamed of their triad.

"It's not usual, but so what? _Usual_ is so . . . overrated."

There were whispers and Sirius heard them, but he decided to ignore them. Yes, he was going to become a Dagworth-Granger, but she was going to be his _wife_. Anyone would disrespect her at their peril. He would not be a Black by name in a few minutes, but he was a Black by nature.

Daniel Dagworth-Granger reached the ceremonial circle and shook hands with him and Remus before kissing Hermione on the cheek and stepping back to join the Marauders. There were no other family members, but Sirius did hope to reconnect with Andromeda Tonks when this was over.

He was going to be a brand-new man.

"Today," Dumbledore began, his voice clear and both welcoming as well as authoritative as he called for attention in his manner, "we are gathered to join Hermione Jane Dagworth-Granger and Sirius Orion Black together in a marital bond."

All those who were there, guests and family and curious others, hushed as the Chief Warlock sketched runes into the air. Sirius, though, gazed at Hermione. She looked beautiful. Her hair was flowing freely down her back, her shoulder bore Remus's Mating mark, and her robes slid over her curves all the way down to her bare feet.

"I love you," she said under her breath. She knew he'd hear her. He loved being an Animagus.

"Having pledged their troth to one another, Sirius will be joining the House and Line of Dagworth-Granger."

Murmurs of surprise rose and fell as those who hadn't known Sirius was leaving behind his House affiliation comprehended the implications. "So we will ask them to take their oaths here, before witnesses and bound by Magic."

Hermione began as their ceremony dictated. "I, Hermione Jane Dagworth-Granger, take you, Sirius Orion Black, as my bonded husband. I will love you and honor you through this life and beyond. Your magic is a boon and is welcomed into my House and your bloodline will be grafted into mine. May Magic bless our union."

"I, Sirius Orion Black, join you, Hermione Jane Dagworth-Granger, as your bonded husband. I will love you and protect you as my wife in this life and beyond. I will join my blood to yours as your husband. May our lines be strengthened and may Magic bless our union."

The wording of their oaths was awkward, but they'd looked into it and they had to rework many things as it was _her_ house taking _him_ rather than the other way around. Additionally, they were a triad, and so anything resembling "fidelity" in their marital bonding ceremony could backfire badly. So they went with what they had.

Dumbledore etched more runes into the air between them and above them. Runes of strength, of protection, and marital joining. Remus, very subtly, shifted so that he had his hands on their shoulders as they accepted a final blessing from Dumbledore and the ceremonial introduction.

"Entered into with love and consent, blessed by the Patriarch of their House, I am now happy to introduce to you Sirius and Hermione Dagworth-Granger. May their lives be blessed."

Applause and wishes for good luck as well as laughter suffused the air when Sirius pulled Hermione against himself and kissed her smiling lips until she melted against him and he could barely hear the others with them in the clearing in Wales.

It all would have been a perfect day if new guests showed up: Death Eaters.

"Bloody hell!" Remus shouted. "Wands out!"

Screams and shouts and the loud pops of panicked Apparition replaced the sounds of celebration.

"Dumbledore!"

There was no battle, though. Not really. Remus pushed his Mate behind him and Sirius was in perfect agreement as he, Remus, Daniel, James, Lily, and Peter surged forward with Dumbledore and many others.

Between Stunning, Petrifying, Binding, Shrinking, and Banishing, the Death Eaters were soon put down. No one, but no one, was a match for Albus Dumbledore.

Still, Sirius was shaking as he and Remus locked gazes. "Get her home," Remus said. "I'll be there soon." He offered his co-mate a lopsided smile. "Go on, Pads. Your turn. Just, you know, keep a pillow for me, yeah? Do not argue. You promised to protect her. You did. Now get her safe. Take a bath, for Merlin's sake."

In short order, he did.

And though Hermione broke down crying during the bath, he felt good to be there to comfort her. Proud that he had indeed helped to protect her. And relieved that they would have a wedding night after all.

"Hush, love," he murmured into her skin as he dried her off with a thick towel. "Hush." Sunlight flickered in through a high window in their bathroom. "You're safe. Your father's fine."

"Remus?"

"Him?" Sirius chuckled. "He'll be here soon, so . . ." He kissed her, then, gently but with purpose as he felt his arousal building despite the fear of the day. He brushed his thumbs up her ribs until they reached the curves of her breasts. "So . . ." How to say it?

She knew. She always did. "Make me your wife, Sirius."

He did.

And when Remus arrived a couple of hours later, they did indeed have a pillow waiting.

* * *

The next morning, when Hermione woke up feeling nauseated, Sirius fixed her some soothing chamomile tea. When he returned to their bedroom, cup of tea and plate of toast in his hands, he was rather surprised to see Remus flat against the wall next to the bed.

"What is it, mate?"

Remus swallowed, blew out a breath, and looked to Hermione, who was frowning with closed eyes on the bed.

"He got all weird and started sniffing me. Said I smelled off. I blame the stupid Death Eaters."

"Sure it wasn't super-virile Sirius Orion Dagworth-Granger?" Sirius asked with a wary smile as he set the tea and toast on the bedside table.

"Not _that_ virile," Remus said on a rasp. "I heard something. I heard a heartbeat."

Hermione opened one eye. "A what?"

"A heartbeat," Remus whispered.

Sirius felt his insides still for one eternal moment before he blew out a breath. "Right."

Slowly, slowly, Hermione scooted up the bed to rest against the headboard. "You think I'm pregnant." Remus nodded. Sirius agreed more slowly. Hermione nodded. "Right then. There's a charm to tell for sure."

Remus's son, John Benedick Dagworth-Granger was born on the tenth day of February, 1979.

* * *

 _Note: Hermione got pregnant on the night of the Marking Ceremony in the Shrieking Shack. The Bonding here took place on the day that, according to my research, a baby's heart begins to beat: about three weeks and one day after conception, according to ehd dot org._


	29. Pureblood Hermione: Overheard

_**A/N:** Wait, the American Pureblood Hermione universe isn't gone yet. (I know, I know!) Because sometimes, folks want to know what happened to HARRY? Imagine that._

* * *

 **Overheard but not Overshared**

 **Early April, 1980**

Newly frocked Potions Master Severus Snape stood gape-faced outside the door where his former headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, was meeting with . . . someone. A Seer, apparently, who sounded as if she did indeed have the Sight.

Why they were meeting at the Hog's Head, Severus didn't ask himself. He was too overwhelmed with what he had overheard.

His left arm itched and, absently, he scratched at the Mark he bore. It wasn't pretty, that Mark, and he'd regretted it almost since its intrusion into his Magic.

 _"_ _. . . born as the seventh month dies . . ."_

The words careened about in his mind and he half-staggered into the common room of the pub again, one finger up toward the barkeep to indicate he needed a dram of firewhisky. He couldn't speak; his mind was centered on only one word.

 _Lily. Lily. Lily._

She had rejected him and married herself to that overwhelming, Pureblood _git_ of a Potter. And though he despised Potter with every fiber of his being, Severus could never _not_ think of Lily with respect and affection. Ever. He knew she was expecting a child. He knew that she and her husband had defied the Dark Lord on more than one occasion.

And now he suspected that . . .

Could it be?

He decided to wait until the babe was born. If it was in the second half of July, then, Severus decided, he'd warn them.

He abandoned his interview with Dumbledore. Perhaps he could seek employment . . . elsewhere.

* * *

"Potioneer Dagworth-Granger." Severus bowed his head in respect and endeavored not to show surprise at the scene before him. Daniel Dagworth-Granger, Chief Potioneer of the Society, was sitting on the floor of his office, a toddler-aged child pulling on his hair. "Sorry to have come at an inconvenient time, but this was quite . . . urgent."

The Potioneer winced as the child toppled over whilst still trying to maintain a grip on the man's graying, wavy hair. "I understood that to be the case, yes. Was it about the job offer my daughter mentioned? The contract seemed favorable to both of us. Congratulations, by the way, on the Mastery." Dagworth-Granger disentangled himself at last from small fingers and hefted the child over his shoulder as he stood.

Severus acknowledged the commendation and accepted the Potioneer's silent offer of a seat on one leather-upholstered chair. "No, sir, but I will be willing to discuss that with you after the more urgent business is cleared up . . . if you still desire to do so."

"Right then." The child—a boy, Severus thought, with dark curls and green eyes—started to set up a fuss and the older wizard hushed him with the simple tools of childish sounds pressed to the child's neck. "Sorry," Dagworth-Granger said after a moment. He looked sheepish but also proud. "This is my grandson, John. It's my day to babysit. Well," he went on, looking fondly at the child, "we always spend Wednesdays together. So. Let me send for Hermione, shall I? And did you wish to speak with her, or with me?"

Severus shifted uncomfortably. "It's a matter of some . . . delicacy, sir. And I think, well, I think I should perhaps talk to her husband as well."

The Potioneer angled a brow at him after he set the child on the floor to toddle back and forth before heading to a bookshelf and tugging at some massive tome on the bottom shelf. "Sirius or Remus?"

Severus blushed, remembering that Hermione was not only bound to one execrable Marauder, but she was bound to two of them. "Either or both. So long as Hermione is with them."

"To run interference?" Dagworth-Granger asked with a light in his eye. "I have heard tales, you know. All right, then."

Within half an hour, Lupin and Hermione were in the Potioneer's office, the Potioneer was attending to a brewing issue and the child was on his father's lap, nibbling on a sturdy-looking biscuit. Lupin eyed him narrowly. "What is the urgent matter, Snape?"

"My father said it was quite important," Hermione added. "Are you quite well? Was there a problem with the Mastery Board?"

"Not at all, Missus Dagworth-Granger." He pushed out a breath. "Let me get to the point. Lupin, how are Lily and her husband?" It galled him, but he had to ask.

The werewolf's eyes flashed gold for a moment before his son started saying, "Papapapapapa", which served to calm the other man down. The full moon was due to rise in a week—Severus had checked, as he didn't wish to confront the man too close to that dangerous time—so the feral gleam faded back to green in a few beats of his heart.

"They're fine, Snape. Why?"

"Their . . . baby. I saw the announcement in the Prophet that he was born in July, yes?"

Lupin handed his son off to Hermione as if clearing himself for a duel. Severus endeavored not to react. "Yes. What's it to you, Snape?"

The feral hue took over Lupin's gaze and Severus did his best not to shudder. "There was a . . . prophecy. Involving the Dark Lord. And it is possible that the boy might be in danger if it gets out. I heard the prophecy myself, as it was made to . . . someone else."

"Divination isn't worth a knut," Hermione asserted, silently conjuring or Summoning a small wooden cauldron for her son. "I'm surprised, Severus, that you're heeding it at all."

"Lily," Lupin said at the same time Severus did himself. The men stared at one another, disconcerted. Lupin continued. "Are you willing to tell _her_ the prophecy you heard?"

Severus swallowed and nodded slowly. "I am. It's that important. Maybe they could all leave to be safe?"

"You want _James_ to be safe?" Lupin asked derisively. "Why don't I believe you?"

"I want _Lily_ safe! I don't want the Dark Lord to even _think_ of her."

Lupin exchanged a quick look with Hermione, who nodded. "They've been approached, you know," he said. "As has my Mate. To, to join him. Your Dark Lord." He shot a glance at Severus's arm and his nostrils flared for a moment. "They refused. James won't leave."

"Not even to keep his son away from _him_?"

Hermione nuzzled her son. "Lily would do anything to protect Harry."

"Harry?"

Hermione nodded. "Harry James Potter. And he was born on the last day of last month."

"Shite."

* * *

In later years, as he made a name for himself as a Potioneer, Severus looked back on that interview with satisfaction. He'd had to travel far to escape the reach of the Dark Mark, but, Australia was a welcoming place.

And it was far, far away from the Dark Lord, who terrorized those in Britain.

Lily and her son were safe and that, for Severus, was all that truly mattered.

* * *

 _Note: I've got a couple more of these: one that touches on the war and one in the far future...And then, APH will be all done._


	30. Pureblood Hermione: Through the Years

_A/N: I was going to make these a few different posts, but I decided to just make it one longer one. :) My thanks to all of you who've been following along. It's been a pleasure._

* * *

 **Through the Years**

 ** _31 July 1982_**

 ** _Aberystwyth Healing Center_**

"Hermione, it's not too late. We can get you to Hogwarts. It's more secure." Sirius was all but begging at that point, fist knotted in the sheet on the hospital cot. They were in the smaller Healing Center where Hermione oversaw the Potions Unit—parchment-work, not practical, not whilst she'd been pregnant—and Hermione had insisted on having their baby there.

"It's like another home to me, honey. I want to be here."

He winced as he glanced out the window to see the Dark Mark overpowering the sky. "But, but he's just attacked . . . someone. I don't even know who."

"It's not us. It's not my dad. Remus and John are here and we're warded." A contraction came, Sirius saw, and she closed her eyes and drew air in through her nose, slowly. "Right now, I just want to have our son. Yours and mine." Her smile was pained, but sincere and Sirius felt his heart flip over.

Again. How many times, since she'd told him they were having a baby of their own? Oh, he adored Little John. The lad was three and had mastered the child's broom he'd been sleeping with since he was two. He loved making messes in the kitchen, "Playing Potions" with food and herbs and jams. And he was looking forward to having a baby brother.

"Yours and mine," he repeated, taking her hand and being careful with it. Caressing the slight burns that would never fade from her fingers—part of potion development—and loving the hum that warmed his skin when he did so. "But, love, Saint Mungo's?"

"Is in the heart of London. Everyone goes there. It was attacked only last Halloween, remember? The Damned Lord just had to go after the Minister for Magic." Another contraction had her pausing in her incipient tirade. Then, she nodded. "At least Lily and Harry are safe and Severus is far away."

"Good riddance to bad rubbish, is what I say."

"Sirius!"

"What? It's true." Then, seeing the emotion in her warm brown eyes, Sirius backed down. "I'm glad he told them. I'm glad they're safe. John and Harry are going to be infamous Marauders, just like their dads."

"So will Orion." Hermione smirked before another contraction took over her body. "Ohhhh," she said, her voice strained. "Siriusssss. I need . . . help."

Sirius summoned his Patronus and sent it to Remus. "She needs help, Moony! Help?" Then he moved to hold his wife, hitching himself onto the cot and fretting. "What can I do?"

"Let me . . . hold me. And there, on my back? Right there, pressure. Pressure would be good. Your son is . . ." She hissed again, her forehead breaking out in a sweat. "Strong. Orion Ross. It's a strong name. Mmmm."

"Breathe, love. You said it helped. Wait! What about one of Moony's potions? Would a dose help you?" The pain potion she'd developed for her Mate was amazing. "I bet it's strong enough even for this."

"No! No potions! Not . . . now."

"You're the Healer, but . . ."

She whipped her head around and glared at him. "No. Not. Right. Now—ow!"

Remus burst into the room, hair awry. "I've got the Healers on the way."

"Who?" Hermione demanded.

"Elspeth? The one you—"

"Good. Good. Yes. Fine. Breathe, Puck," she muttered.

"I miss Puck," Remus said, dashing to the other side of the bed. "So does Moony."

"Give me a couple of months and she'll be back," Hermione promised. "Where's John?"

"With Grandpa."

Sirius nodded. There was only one man with that title, as neither his father nor Remus's had anything to do with their growing family.

"Good."

Sirius was a mess, Remus was as well, but one hour later, Hermione was calm and cool and collected as she put her newest son to her breast to feed him. "Orion Ross. Born under the Dark Mark, and I hope to Merlin that you won't have to be a warrior like your dads."

Sirius, unable to stop the tears from welling in his eyes as he listened to her and watched John cooing over his brother, sighed. "We'll get him, love. We will."

* * *

 **1990**

"Pete! Stop, lad," Hermione called on Platform 9 3/4. It was the first of September and John was boarding the Hogwarts Express. Hermione didn't want to miss waving goodbye due to her recalcitrant third son!

"Johnny! Johnny! Come back!"

Orion laughed, his gray eyes dancing. "I'll get him, Mum. Look, he's trying to climb on John's owl's cage."

"Thanks, love," she said, puffing out a breath. She suspected she'd fallen pregnant again and she just didn't have the energy to keep Peter close by. "Sirius!"

"Be right there!" Her husband held up a hand to indicate he'd heard her. He was chatting with James Potter. Lily held their son by the hand and smiled. Hermione smiled back. Good. Someone else who didn't want to talk Quidditch.

"Hermione!"

"Lily! Harry, how are you?"

"Fine, Auntie 'Mione! Dad said we came to say bye to Cousin John. Where'd he go?"

"Over there. Uncle Remus is helping with his trunk, see?"

"Cor! Can I go, Mum?"

"Careful," Lily said, letting go of Harry's hand. "Go right to your uncle." She bit her lip. "I hate that we still have the dratted Aurors out for the first of September."

"They're just being careful. So many members of the Wizengamot come, and there's the Minister and . . ." Hermione scanned the crowd, relaxing when she saw Orion leading Peter toward her. "What if he's not dead? There was no body so no one knows for sure how he died. If he died."

Lily shook her head sharply. "I can't even think that way. Not with . . ." She darted a look around and then smiled. "Not with another one on the way. I haven't told Harry, but James knows."

Hermione grinned. "Congratulations! So the potion worked for you?"

"It did!"

"Good. If I may, I'd like to update your case file, then, Lily?"

"Of course."

* * *

 **1997**

"Pete! Enough!" John, who had graduated from Hogwarts only a couple of months ago, anchored his little brother with both hands on the boy's shoulders to keep him from running to the train without even saying goodbye.

Sirius shook his head and thanked Merlin that they only had one more to start Hogwarts with after Peter.

Ah, Peter. Looked nothing like his namesake, of course. Peter had the Black eyes and hair, but otherwise he was all Hermione. From the shape of his nose to the way he could attack three foreign languages and Muggle maths to the way he refused to fly. He also claimed he was going to be an Animagus.

Right.

Peter Pettigrew, the good friend his son had been named after, had been killed by Voldemort's own hand the year before Peter had been born. He had been defending a group of school children who were touring the Potions Brewery when a band of particularly nasty Death Eaters arrived.

Pettigrew was a hero and Sirius's son Peter wanted to be one, as well.

* * *

 **1999/2000**

"I am going to pour all of that potion series into the ocean. I'm going to take out an advert on the wireless. Oh Merlin!" Hermione shouted, bending over and leaning against the hospital cot. "I'm too old for this. I don't have any reserves left, anymore!"

Sirius rubbed her lower back whilst Remus brushed her hair. These rituals had always soothed her before. "Not too old, apparently, love."

"Right," she said on a huff. " _You_ both look disgustingly virile. _I've_ been as big as Hogwarts."

"Well," Remus replied with a smirk, "we _are_ disgustingly virile." Then, when she glared daggers at him, he finished with her hair and moved to sit in front of her. "I'll be glad to have Puck back. I've missed her."

"Oh, she'll be back all right. Starving. I'm so hungry!"

Sirius clapped his hands together. "I'm on it!"

He opened the door and they could all hear the medical staff doing the countdown to the new year and then, Hermione screamed and swore all sorts of things she never, ever did. Not even during the four births that had come before.

"She's coming!"

Remus had to deliver their daughter, who decided all at once that she was _done_ being inside her mum's body. Or Hermione's body decided it was _done_ playing hostess.

Either way, Joy Elizabeth Dagworth-Granger was the first baby born in Wizarding Britain in the year 2000. She got toys and clothes, and her mum and dads got their picture taken with all the other Dagworth-Granger kids and made the front page of the _Prophet_.

"My daughter came to England knowing she had to ensure the pride of our Line and House," Potioneer Daniel Dagworth-Granger was quoted as saying. "And, as always, she has exceeded expectations."

"The woman earned Outstandings!" Head Auror James Potter, godfather to the first Dagworth-Granger son, said to the assembled media representatives.

* * *

 **2011**

 _Yule_

"Come on, Joy!" Emma Maria Dagworth-Granger tugged on her sister's hand. "I'm going to Apparate us to the shop. We've got to get you fitted!"

"It's not _my_ bonding ceremony," Joy protested, brushing dry snow from her lashes. "Just give me a cloak, all right? Where's Mum and Dad?"

Joy and Emma, like their eldest brother John, were all sired by their mum's Mate, Remus. Both dads were Dad, but between the siblings of matching parental sets, they were Dad and Papa, as they got old enough to want to make distinguishing comments amongst themselves.

Emma did a Shrinking Charm on Joy's school trunk. "They're with Charlie's family."

"Potter Manor in Godric's Hollow?" Joy nodded and then grit her teeth against the Apparition. She hated that feeling. "And we'll go there after or what?"

"Yeah. Charlie's dad wants to host us all for the Preparation Evening."

Charlie was Charlus Adam Potter, third child of James and Lily Potter. He'd been courting Emma for two years, since she completed her Hogwarts education. Charlus was an Auror, and Joy had had to read Emma's letters filled with his "wonderful laugh" and "sexy green eyes" since she'd started Hogwarts.

The fittings were boring and Joy wished she had thought to keep one of her books out to entertain herself whilst the seamstress and Emma agreed upon a set of robes suitable for the occasion and time of year.

She huffed as Emma finally declared herself satisfied and prepared to Apparate them to Godric's Hollow. "I never want to get bonded. Can I just run off to the States when I graduate? Mum said they do things differently, there."

They were met by James and Lily Potter, Harry and Luna Potter, Fred and Acacia Weasley, Charlie Potter (of course!), and the youngest Potter daughter, Heather.

"Joy, you're here! I thought I'd be stuck with all of them without anyone from school!" Heather and Joy were both Gryffindors and, though Heather was a fifth year, they still knew each other well. They had a lot in common, being the youngest of their families and surprises to their parents.

And now, they would be sisters-in-law. Joy smiled and gave her housemate a brief hug before divesting herself of her cloak. "Did you get your robes fitted yet? It was so annoying!"

"Really? Oh, I thought they were beautiful . . ."

Joy grinned as Heather waxed on blissfully about her new bonding robes.

* * *

 **2015**

The Potioneer sipped at his whisky—a smoky, Muggle brand rather than the magical Ogden's he never had acquired a taste for—as he watched his growing family gather for something of a reunion.

"Emma," he mused in a whisper, "you'd be quite proud of our girl. You really would."

A breeze blew in from the ocean over the field at the estate, bringing with it the scents of salt and herbs that made his Potioneering heart content. He'd lived so many years without his beloved Emma; and this solace of the sea and land was what kept him smiling when the children and grandchildren were away.

But they were with him, now. Hermione, her hair in one long braid over her shoulder as she held her own grandchild—John and Katie's son, Daniel thought—whilst speaking with Lily Potter. Daniel's sons-in-law, Sirius and Remus, were on brooms, playing some sort of tag game with Lily's husband and a few of the sons and daughters who were so inclined. The ground below was decorated by the bright colors of children's robes and accented with laughter. So many children.

All three of Hermione's sons had of course kept the Dagworth-Granger name and their magic ran truly through their respective families. The lines ran true through the girls, as well, though only Emma had had children to date.

Good thing, too! Joy was still in school!

Daniel chuckled to himself, being relieved that Remus—handy to have a man who could go from calm to dangerous in a heartbeat at need—would be the one to have any future "talks" with anyone Joy took up with.

Remus was a professor at Hogwarts, these days. He taught Defensive Magic and Duelling. Sirius largely handled the family finances and estates; Daniel had been happy to relinquish all of that to his savvy son-in-law. And Hermione was Chief Healer of Magical Maladies at St. Mungo's Hospital in London. Her work with symptomatic relief for all were-folk had made her famous and sought-after. Her genius with adaptive magic had brought her into prominence as a researcher. And her head for details had seen her taking over nearly half the hospital in her endeavors to "make it work, damn it all!"

Yes, Emma would have been so proud.

He blinked as their daughter handed off the grandson for some reason before flowing down to the ground as a raccoon. She still did this occasionally for the younger generations. Gamboling about, she was, and, yes . . .

She ran to him, eyes bright as she leapt up on his lap.

He stroked her furry head. "Yes, dear?"

Extending her paws in a clear "Gimme!", the raccoon began patting down his pockets, for all the world as if she were a child in truth.

One of the smaller children jogged over to join them, chasing his grandmother. "Nana! Here! I've a biscuit for you!" He giggled when Hermione leapt from Daniel's lap, grabbed the proffered biscuit, and then landed on her feet as the braided Healer they all knew and loved.

"Thanks, love," she said, dropping a kiss to the boy's head, then to Daniel's own. "No cookies for your only child, Daddy?"

"I'll come prepared next time, sweetheart. Run along, now."

With a laugh, Hermione did so, leaving the lad behind with Daniel.

"Great-grandfather?"

"Hello there, little one." What was his name? Wasn't it delightful to have so many great-grandchildren that one didn't remember all their names? To think, forty years before, he'd been worried about the Dagworth-Granger Bloodline disappearing from the earth.

"Did you want to come fly kites? Mummy said to ask. She said you were bored."

"Bored? A fully occupied mind is never bored, young man. But yes, I'd love to fly a kite with you." He fished a handkerchief from a pocket to transfigure. "Let's see what I can come up with, eh?"

It was so much fun that Daniel gave serious thought to retiring. Hermione would make an outstanding Potioneer.

 **THE END**

* * *

 ** _The Triad's Children, in recap:_**

 _John Benedick, born February, 1979, Hogwarts 1990-1997 (Remus)_

 _Orion Ross, born July, 1982, Hogwarts 1993-2000 (Sirius)_

 _VOLDEMORT DEFEATED IN THIS SPACE_

 _Peter Robin, born March, 1986, Hogwarts 1997-2004 (Sirius)_

 _Emma Maria, born May 1991, Hogwarts 2002-2009 (Remus)_

 _Joy Elizabeth, born January 2000, Hogwarts 2011-2018 (Remus)_


	31. The Surprising Invitation

_**A/N** : Yes, **Glimpses of Hermione** continues even without any American Purebloods. Imagine!_

 _For Hermione's birthday, I decided to try something I've never done before. A brand new-for-me pairing. Well, kinda._

* * *

 **The Surprising Invitation**

 **Post-War AU**

 **Pairing: Draco/Hermione**

 **Rating: K/G/Oh My Wand, No One Even Gets Kissed**

 **. . . .**

She'd bid farewell to Harry and Ginny—the preternaturally happy couple—and the newest Potter to grace the Wizarding World, and had just done a quick check to make sure she hadn't left anything behind in the waiting room when Draco Malfoy entered with the air of a man who'd seen something precious.

When he saw her, though, his expression changed. It was speculative.

"Well, it has been a while," he murmured, eyeing her up and down as if she were a rare and curious bird.

She cocked a brow at him, wand at the ready but not threatening. Not yet. "Not long enough for some of us." Oh, she'd seen him, but he hadn't seen her. This had been on purpose.

His smile was crooked. "That, I can well believe. You've changed."

"Have _you_?"

"Yes." The answer was definitive. Almost eerily so. He spread his hands before him, pale hands, with the small burns that came with Potioneering. "To the good, I'm told."

"I'll believe that when I see it," she retorted, tucking her wand back into its holster. She glanced around the empty waiting room at St. Mungo's Hospital and recalled her duties. "I've got to get back to my ward."

He nodded, his lips parting as if he'd speak. He didn't, but he did move to open the door for her. Surprised, she went through it, the voices of patients and healers and others almost an intrusion after their quiet interchange. She brushed past him, noticing for the first time that he smelled like fresh herbs with an underlying metallic tang that wasn't unpleasant. At least, not for her. She was deeply involved in research and development, healing beings that often were left to fend for themselves.

Being an Order of Merlin bearing war heroine came in useful on occasion.

As she moved away from him, she glanced back over her shoulder. "Thank you, Malfoy."

"Welcome. Say, Granger," he took a lunging step to reach her side, touching her elbow lightly with one finger. "Can I walk you up?"

Surprise held her breath for a moment before releasing it with a small _whoosh_. "To what purpose?"

He offered her another smile, which lit his eyes shyly. "I guess, to give you a chance to see it, maybe?"

 _It, it, it. Oh_ , she realized. _It_. That he'd changed. "I don't know, Malfoy. I don't imagine you can display any life-changing alterations on the lift from here to my ward."

"Take the stairs, then," he suggested, his tone both playful and hopeful.

She considered it, walking slowly toward the door that led to the stairs. "All right, then. Why would you want to give me such a stunning opportunity?" she inquired, making sure to ladle the sarcasm on with a large spoon.

They started up the steps, and he stayed right next to her, not lingering behind her to watch her walk or anything. It was a tight fit, perhaps, and would have to change should anyone else take the stairs, but for the present it was sufficient. He cleared his throat. "Rumor has it it's your birthday."

"Imagine that, the rumor mill is correct. Like a broken clock, it would have to be correct once in a while, eh?"

He coughed lightly. "And since you apparently have no compunction about working today, I'm wondering if you have something planned for this evening?"

She stopped, then, one foot on the small landing to the next set of steps, and turned to face him. He backed half a step away, one hand on the wall. Disbelief had her frowning. "Is this some kind of bet with the Weasleys? I know you've got on better with them, what with that incident last year . . ."

He turned more pale, if possible, and rubbed at his side, where she knew he'd been scratched by a werewolf. Scratched, not bitten. He was as Bill Weasley was, now. Not changed, but sensitive to lunar cycles.

She knew because she'd helped brew a new potion that eased the symptoms when they were hard to manage. He hadn't seen her, then, as he'd been in an unconscious stasis at the time, at Bill's suggestion.

There was no love lost between Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, after all.

"No bet with the Weasleys, Granger. Merlin, can't a man ask you to dinner without getting interrogated?"

She felt her cheeks and throat heat with embarrassment. "Er, yes? Under normal circumstances. I don't know; it's been a while."

"Weaselbee—"

"—Is very happy playing Quidditch."

"And making many ladies happy from here to New Zealand," Malfoy added wryly, but he watched her face and she did her best to suppress her continued blush. "You all right with that?"

"Ron? He's happy, Malfoy. Of course I'm happy for him."

"So there's no—"

"No." Not since that sloppy attempt to consummate a weird, too-latent curiosity months after the end of the War. "You?"

"Me? Never been into blokes, sorry."

Her own laugh surprised her and his answering grin shocked her with how warm she still felt to see it. "Well, then." She endeavored to move by him to continue her climb to her ward.

"So . . . dinner, Granger?"

He had his finger on her arm, ever so lightly, and she paused once more. "All right. With one condition."

"What?"

"My name is Hermione. Use it."

"Yes, ma'am. _Hermione_."

"Thank you. _Draco_."

"Look for the dragon Patronus for the time," he called as she continued her ascent.

He had stayed on the landing and she glanced down at him as she reached the next one. "A dragon? However did you manage that?"

"I'll tell you over dinner. How about at the new place across from Fortescue's?"

Anticipation was a strange guest in her midsection, making her smile a little. "That would be nice."

"Thank you, Hermione."

* * *

Later, when the agile, silver dragon Patronus appeared in her flat, she found herself unwillingly impressed to hear it say, "Eight o'clock. I've got a reservation. Don't be late."

Another Patronus appeared just before eight, just as she was preparing to leave the building to Apparate to Diagon Alley. "I forgot to say, Happy Birthday, Hermione."

And, in the end, it really was. _Quite_ a happy birthday.


	32. They Never Expected That

_**A/N:** I know, it's been **forever**. I should probably go post a better hello on my tumblr, but I haven't even been on site there since 2017. I apologize for falling into the ether, but I'm working on finding my way back. I'm working on a longer story for this fandom, two novels, and a million Autism Mom things over here . . . and my usual laptop is no longer fully functional (!) Like I said, I should go post on tumblr, but I'll put this out first. _

_With a wave and a wry smile, here's my first foray into a bit of writing to share this year._

* * *

 **Not What They Expected**

 **Rating: K**

 **Pairing: Hints of Harmony, but it's mostly just Hermione being Hermione**

 **. . .**

"Miss Granger. _You_ will remain after class."

Harry and Ron scuttled out of the classroom with worried, backward glances at her. She tried to look positive as she met their gazes. _I'm sure it's nothing,_ she told herself. _He's just wanting to harangue me about my homework._

 _Or compliment me; he'd not want to do_ that _in front of the others!_

She stood in front of the Potion Master's desk and held her head high, reminding herself that that chill she felt was not just due to the December day, but the fact that she was in the dungeon. It did not portend doom; it was just a little cold. _Right_.

Professor Snape flourished a scroll before shaking it so that it displayed itself fully before her. "What is this, Miss Granger?"

Hermione hefted her book bag over her shoulder and met Professor Snape's accusatory gaze squarely. "My essay, Professor." Though her stomach trembled a bit at the sheer hardness of his features, she endeavored to project a cool, calm demeanor. What was wrong with it? she wondered out loud.

His nostrils flared—a considerable occurrence on such a nose—before he replied. "I have heard, Miss Granger, that you didn't actually write this." He pointed his wand at one corner and muttered something she didn't catch under his breath and a "T" was revealed as her mark. "Plagiarist!" was scribed and underlined more than once.

Her skin went cold, her stomach clenched, and she felt tears prickle in her eyes. "Professor? No, no, no. I wrote every word of that! Every word! I'd _never_ turn in someone else's work! Surely anyone could have told you that!"

He sniffed and tossed her the scroll as if it were a wet rag. "What they _told_ me, Miss Granger, was that you have not been spending time writing as you used to do. And yet, here, your work shows every sign of having been subject to your usual multitudinous revisions and changes."

"What kinds of signs?" Startled but inwardly pleased, Hermione still shook her head. "I _did_ write it! I'm just—wait, who is _they_ and _what_ did they say?"

The professor crossed his arms over his chest, but gave her no leave to relax as he spoke. Tension thrummed through her limbs, but she swallowed down her growing irritation and worry and tried to listen to his words rather than decide for herself what had been going on, lately.

"Your habits, Miss Granger, are as well known as your know-it-all tendencies," the professor intoned in his slow, deprecating manner. "And you have not been following your usual patterns, but the essays you have recently been trying to pass off as your own are clearly still at that level of performance. Yet, witnesses say that you are _not_ spending far too many days in the library or helping your lamentable . . . friends . . ." He rolled his eyes. "And there have been concerns expressed."

"Concerns." Hermione frowned despite her wish to remain cool and in control. "Someone has really reported I'm cheating."

"Oh, _brava_ ," the wizard drawled.

She set her shoulders and tossed her head, needing to draw in a bit more air, even in this subterranean room. "I _never_ cheat, Professor Snape." The notion that she did was offensive, actually.

"Prove it."

She opened her mouth to answer, closed it, and pursed her lips thoughtfully. "How? Write, what, an essay you can monitor? Are there charms for that? Some sort of anti-plagiarism charm?" Magic had amazing adaptations and shortcuts, she had learnt over the years.

Her professor snorted with a soft, derisive sound. "If you think you can, Miss Granger . . ."

"I can."

* * *

"So I have to produce an essay right in front of him and Professor McGonagall," Hermione told her friends in the Gryffindor common room that evening. "Right there."

"So bloody unfair of the git," Ron muttered, clutching his wand in a convulsive manner. "Did he ever have to do that, I wonder? Herms, what'll you do if they don't like it?"

"I'm more worried about what will happen to my marks this year," she said, grimacing and rubbing her hands on her knees in consternation. She had to do something, but there was nothing, literally nothing, she could do in preparation.

Harry caught one of her hands under his. "Stop already, before you rub a hole in your tights," he advised with a lopsided smile. He was sitting at her feet. "I don't know who thought they were reporting you, 'Mione, but if I find out, I'll let you know."

"We'll hex 'em into next year," Ron asserted with a nod.

She laughed a little and patted Harry's hand, not letting it go, but not rubbing at her knees anymore, either. His hand was reassuring and, after years of offering him hugs and light, comforting touches, it was a bit lovely to be on the receiving end of such a thing. Other than her parents, she didn't get a lot of tactile reassurance.

"So, Herms." Ron leaned back a bit in the squishy sofa before the fire, tapping his wand in a thoughtful manner. "I don't think you've been cheating—you know that, right?—but now that I think about it, you haven't, erm, nagged us about our work all year, really. I mean, not like you used to, you know?"

Hermione suppressed a smirk as Harry sort of jumped a little, evidently startled. His eyes, behind the round lenses of his spectacles, grew huge as he considered Ron's statement. "He's right, Hermione. I guess, I guess I, erm . . ."

"Didn't miss the nagging?" Hermione had thought about it earlier in the year, when she had made the conscious choice to do her work her way and stop trying to drag her best mates, kicking and screaming, to academic parity. They deserved to _enjoy_ their educational process on their own. Besides, it was their O.W.L. year, and she had her focus on those exams. She wanted Os across the board, if possible. And much as she loved Harry and Ron, she had to come to terms with the fact that they did not care as much as she did and nothing she did was going to change that. Ever. She sighed and smiled down at Harry. "I guessed that to be the case. Honestly, who misses a rash, right?"

Harry and Ron immediately protested her choice of metaphor. But then, Harry leaned back on his hands. "So wait. You know, we haven't seen you spending weeks on essays, 'Mione. What are you doing?"

"I'm writing them. Just, not so many drafts, these days."

"Ohhhh." They nodded as if that answer was plenty and Hermione reclined back into the sofa. It was a very simple answer, but also very true.

* * *

"The topic, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said without preamble, "is on the board. You will have two hours to create a passable essay."

"Two hours? Is that it? But what about reference materials? How can I find enough resources for comparison about the potion ingredients? I mean, that efficacy of fresh versus dried is easy enough for the roots, but—"

"Relax, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said with a tiny smile. Her eyes flashed with humor behind her thin-rimmed glasses. The older witch was sitting in a conjured chair with red leather upholstery next to Professor Snape's desk while the Potions Master himself was standing with what Hermione supposed was intimidating aloofness next to it. "Knowing your penchant for research, I have asked Madam Pince to provide a variety of relevant texts, some of which will need to be returned immediately you are finished here. Professor Snape is aware of what is here and he will not lower your mark for the lack of a resource that has not been provided for you." She narrowed her gaze at her colleague. "Isn't that correct, Severus?"

"Indeed. Begin, Miss Granger." He produced a large hourglass—perhaps it was a two-hour-glass?—from somewhere, set it before her eyes on his desk, and strode with painful slowness around the room, as if expecting her to produce a completed essay from somewhere. Even her Head of House stared at her for a few moments, as if trying to figure out what she would do.

Put thus on her mettle, Hermione read the question on the blackboard, took a breath, and closed her eyes.

* * *

After years of writing for, essentially, the same professors over and over again, Hermione had determined what each of them required in terms of style and substance in her essays. She studied all of the work she'd completed, read the comments, and created a sort of invisible style sheet, after a fashion, for each professor insofar as she was capable. Writing comprehensive essays, then, was a matter of internalizing the material—which she did, as soon as she knew what she had to research—and presenting her thoughts in an organized manner.

She knew how to do that. In one draft. Which she often wrote without fanfare.

The potions ingredient topic that Professor Snape had set before her was actually not nearly as in-depth as some of the things he'd required of them over the years, so Hermione was able to have a general idea as to structure immediately. She reviewed what she knew already, mentally filled in an order of presentation for the essay, and then turned to the stack of reference books that had fortunately been provided for her.

"This will actually save me some time, since I have a limit," she realized aloud as she crossed the room. She could feel the eyes of her professors on her, but ignored them. She only had two hours.

Reviewing indices and appendices, jotting down notes on parchment provided, and noting her sources all occupied the first hour of the time allotted.

Professor McGonagall deigned, at that point, to rise from her chair. "May I see what you have written so far, Miss Granger?"

Feeling both sheepish and defiant all at once, Hermione slid over the empty parchment as well as flicking her quill over the notes she'd taken. "I'll be done, ma'am. I will."

"See that you are, Miss Granger. I'd hate for my House to be cast into shadow."

"Nice bit of encouragement," Hermione muttered, shaking her head. "I'll do my best."

"Your best?" Professor Snape called from his seat behind his desk. "You've not written one word. Ha!"

Pride stiffened her spine as she met his dark gaze for a moment. "Not yet, no. But I shall."

She stood, stretched, and took a brisk turn about the room, thinking—with a wry twist of her lips—of the scene in the book Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen, where the heroine was encouraged to take a "turn about the room" as it was refreshing after sitting so long "in one attitude". It certainly could be, she knew.

Then, she returned to her seat, dipped her quill into fresh ink, and began to write.

And she wrote. An introductory paragraph, brief thesis statement, paragraphs of supporting examples, referencing the notes she'd spent an hour taking.

And she wrote. _Vanishing_ a word here, replacing it with a better. Underlining that phrase _there_ and nodding with satisfaction. Pausing briefly to read a paragraph to herself, under her breath, before deciding it worked well enough given the time constraints.

And she wrote. Recapping her points and showing how they all supported her thesis statement without being overly pedantic. She hoped. Then, a brief concluding sentence that she had to _Vanish_ three times before she managed to finish _without_ sarcasm.

It was the hardest part of the assignment.

"Time is up, Miss Granger," the Potions Master informed her, hand out as he stood before her.

She blew one time on the final line of her essay and consigned it into his hands. "Here you are, Professor. May I go, now? It's almost time for lunch and this has left me quite hungry."

The professors didn't respond; they were both poring over her work and neither of them appeared to notice when she packed up her quill and left.

* * *

"How'd it go?" Harry met her at the door to the Great Hall. He was dressed in day clothes, hands shoved in his pockets as he'd not even gone to Hogsmeade that day, in a show, she imagined, of solidarity. Ron had not been so concerned, but Hermione understood. "Was it awful?" He peered closely at her face, his own wrinkled in concern. "Was the git reading over your shoulder with every word or what?"

"Not exactly," she told him as they made their way to their usual place at Gryffindor's table. "But he did set his enormous hourglass in front of me, and I swear if he'd had a mechanical watch? He would have used that. And Professor McGonagall was sitting right there the entire time. I think," Hermione added with a bit of a smile, "that she was nervous. She made me think our House's entire reputation was on the line."

"Well, it was!"

"Honestly, Harry. Our House reputation has always been with the Quidditch team."

"Not this year," he muttered, shooting a dire look at the Head Table where The Toad was sitting all pink and horrid.

"So how many drafts did you do? You didn't have much time. What was the essay about? How did you manage without the library?" He grinned at her before turning to tuck in to his lunch. Only sandwiches and soup, that day, but it was welcome for all that.

"One draft. And they brought a miniature reference library to me. Good thing, I say."

"One? What? Hermione Granger wrote a paper with a single draft? Notify the _Prophet_!"

She rolled her eyes. "That's how I've done it all year, Mister Potter, I'll have you know."

He paused, his sandwich poised between his plate and his mouth. "Really?"

"Truly."

"Cor, I had no idea."

She grinned at him. "I know."

* * *

Their next Potions lesson was Tuesday morning, and Hermione was happy enough to be sitting between Harry and Ron. Moral support was always appreciated. Harry reached for her hand under the cover of the table, enfolding it in his own as their professor approached her toward the end of the lesson.

"Miss Granger."

"Professor?"

"Your essay was . . . acceptable. Considering the constraints." He tossed the rolled parchments in front of her as if it were an afterthought; unimportant, trivial.

Harry grabbed the essay immediately, scowling at the inches of obviously undeserved punitive writing. Hermione didn't dare look at the mark on it until Professor Snape stepped away.

"Cor, 'Mione! You got an O!" Harry whispered, sounding awed.

"And look," Ron added, peering at the topmost parchment as Harry spread it out between the three of them. "That's McGonagall's writing, that is."

"Professor McGonagall," Hermione chided.

"Whatever. She wrote a note, too. _Well done_. That's _all_? You gave up Hogsmeade for that?"

Harry chuckled and pushed away from the table. "Our House's honor is saved, 'Mione."

"Imagine my relief."

"Hey, without Quidditch, you're our best bet!"

* * *

Later, in the common room, Hermione curled up in a chair to read over the essay again, seeing the marks here and there left by an irritated Potions Master and a preening Head of House. "He marked me off for a subordinate clause? Really?"

Harry and Ron entered through the portrait hole, and Ron called out a greeting before heading up to their dorm. Harry, though, collapsed on the floor at her feet. "So. Hermione. I was wondering."

If he kept looking up at her with those wide, hopeful eyes, Hermione felt that she'd melt, so she endeavored to keep a sterner expression herself. "Yes, Harry?"

"Can you show me how you do it? Do the whole essay like that in only one go?"

Confused, she studied him for a few silent moments. Was he mocking her or what? "Harry, you always write yours in one go. I've seen you."

"But I can't do it as well as you. Can you show me? Teach me?"

"Harry—"

"Please, Hermione? I'm wanting to do better, this year."

He rolled up a bit until he had his arms resting on her knees and, all at once, Hermione felt more nervous in his presence than she ever had. It was more intense than it had been with Viktor Krum and that made her wonder . . . and _that_ made her cautious when she pushed his fringe out of his eyes. "Harry . . . are you sure? I mean, I know you're instinctive and can pull amazing work out when you're motivated but—"

"You're motivating me, 'Mione. Really." His grin was guileless and that relaxed her somewhat. "Please?"

"All right. After the holiday, yeah?"

He grinned and all but bounced up to his feet before placing an entirely unforeseen kiss to the top of her head. "You're the best."

He dashed up the stairs to his dorm without looking back and Hermione was left to wonder what that had been all about.

"I never expected that!"

. . .

 _ **A/N: So, there we go. *blows out a breath* Is this thing on?**_

 _ **:)**_


	33. Transfiguration

_Official Snippet: All things_ ** _Harry Potter_** _belong to_ ** _J.K. Rowling_** _and/or her assignees. Like everyone else here, I'm just mucking about in her sandbox. Making a mess._

* * *

 **Transfiguration**

 **Canon Deviation, Hogwarts. Year Five**

 **Pairing: Not So Much. Just Hermione Being Hermione Again**

 **Rating: G for "Get 'Er Done!" . . . Or something . . .**

* * *

 **Transfiguration** is a branch of magic that focuses on the alteration of the form or appearance of an object, via the alteration of the object's molecular structure - Harry Potter Wiki

 **Transfigure** : transform outwardly and usually for the better - Merriam Webster online dictionary

So this is a bit more of an exploration as to how the prior Glimpse ( ** _They Never Expected That_** ) happened.

My thanks to **Katmom** for her very kind words.

 **. . . .**

"Honestly, Ron! Do you _want_ to fail? You know Professor McGonagall will _not_ be amused, even if Harry _is_ her star Seeker!"

Ron's ears were turning red as he rounded on her in the Gryffindor Common Room. She didn't register any other sounds—not the sudden, fascinated gossip at the scene Ron had decided was necessary, not the sniggering behind her—her heart was pounding so hard in her breast that all other sounds were temporarily blocked.

Ron made a rude gesture that Mrs. Weasley would _not_ have approved of. "Enough, already, Hermione! We're _tired_ of the nagging! Oi! Let a couple of blokes get some air, will you?" He glanced derisively at the books she clutched in her arms and she held them even more tightly as he threw up his hands. "Me an' Harry are fine with our marks, 'Mione. You go and swot up as much as you want, but leave us out of it! Not everyone bloody cares if we have O's or EE's on exams, so long as we pass. Enough! I'm tired of listening to you." He nudged Harry's shoulder. "Come to that, our Star Seeker, as you call him, will have a much more exciting future on a broom than with a book!"

Eyes stinging, Hermione blinked hard and tried not to show the pain that had lanced through her at both Ron's words and Harry's apparent agreement with them. Helping and being a good student and everything—that was who she was! Didn't they like that? Didn't they like _her_? Ron could be—and often was—a right prat, but, but Harry?

A quick look to her other best friend showed him to be torn, true, but she had to ask. "Harry?" Yes, he could play Quidditch professionally one day, but they were in school _now_ and O.W.L.s would come with or without Umbridge.

He offered her a one-shouldered shrug and ran an awkward hand through his hair. "We'll be all right, Hermione. It's . . . kind of an escape, flying, you know?"

"But your marks?"

"I'll get by. You have a good time, though, yeah?" He smiled a little, albeit the light in his eye was regretful as he gently touched her shoulder with one hand before turning to follow Ron out the portrait hole.

She stood alone, trying to gather herself and shore up her chest from the pain that still cut through her, there, as she stared after the closed portal to the rest of the castle. Behind her, she could hear voices lifting in sudden, loud conversations and she wondered if they'd heard this most recent altercation between her and her best mates.

They didn't care about their lessons nearly as much as she did, she knew, but she wanted them to do well. She did. It wasn't selfish, was it? No. It wasn't like first year, when she had to prove anything. The boys knew she knew her way around the library, now, and they had relied on her for years for help, and . . .

 _Well, no more of that!_ she decided, swallowing down the hurt and acute embarrassment as she turned, face as impassive as she could make it, to claim a corner of one of the tables. She certainly didn't need _their_ help to prepare for the exam in Transfiguration that was set for Friday. She could revise all by herself.

She already knew most of the material anyway, didn't she? Of course.

Sympathetic stares cut across her field of view as leaned back in her chair and mentally drew up a revising schedule for the next few days. All at once, it hit her like pillow in the face:

 _I don't need to spend three days revising. I could try just revising the night before, yeah? And then_ , she mused on, _when Ron decides he wants to revise with me? Ha! I'll show him. I won't even be seen with a text book or notes in my lap. I'll be reading something else entirely. Or maybe I'll just stay in the dorm and, and, condition my hair!_

She nodded in self-satisfaction laced with nerves, before she imagined Harry's reaction. Well, to be frank with herself, she didn't think he'd notice. He'd revise on his own, likely.

And he wasn't thick; so long as Ron left him alone, Harry might do quite well. All by himself.

* * *

Harry had not been feeling entirely comfortable that week; well, since Tuesday, really, when Ron had let loose on Hermione about her revising . . . concerns. She _was_ a _bit_ of a nag about their exams, but she meant well and never really asked for anything in return. She was just, he supposed, trying to be a good friend. A good friend who was rather more insistent than most about her marks. Why was that such an issue with her though? Why did it matter so much to her?

He couldn't puzzle it out, and he hadn't been brave enough to ask her. Some Gryffindor he was. Instead, he really had _relaxed_ a great deal that week, flying with Ron and playing Exploding Snap in the dorm. Seamus had set his bedding on fire—again—and he and the lads had _Aguamenti'd_ the hell out of their room. The house-elves had had to put in an appearance, but it was all in good fun and no one actually got hurt.

It hadn't been until dinner Thursday, though, that Harry realized neither he nor Ron had spent any time with their other best mate, Hermione.

"Have you seen her, Ron?" he asked as they walked into the Great Hall.

Ron shook his head. "No, which is odd, yeah? I mean, she's not even waiting for us at our usual spot."

They crossed the stone floor to their table. "She wasn't here for lunch, either."

"What about breakfast? I, er, wasn't really awake to notice anyone. That game took it out of me. Took forever to get the smell of Seamus's smoke out of the room!" He laughed and took a seat, reaching immediately for the roast beef platter. "Oi! Gin!" he half-yelled to his sister. "You seen Hermione?"

Ginny tossed her head and arched her brows at both Ron and Harry. "She's in her dorm, you know. Well you would know if you hadn't lit off like you did Tuesday. I wanted to hex you, myself, for being a couple of ungrateful berks, but she didn't let me."

Harry felt his stomach tighten in worry and shame, but he only nodded. "Thanks, Gin."

Ron passed the potatoes. "You know Herms. She'll be studying in the Common Room when we get back. Think she'll let me borrow her notes?"

"You're joking, right?" That uncomfortable combination of feelings only grew stronger as he spooned potatoes on his plate. "After what you said?"

"What?" Ron protested, his food half in and half out of his mouth. It sounded like _Whuuhh?_ but Harry had been used to interpreting Ron's speech at meals for years. Then, the ginger swallowed and tried again "What? Look, it'll be fine, mate. She'll be revising tonight and she always helps us out."

"But is that really fair? I mean, what does she get out of it?" It had bothered him that he didn't know the answer to that. "She's already top in our year, yeah?"

"She gets to swot it over us and feel all superior and we get better notes. Win, win, Harry."

Harry didn't bother trying to discuss this further; he just hoped Hermione was in the Common Room when they finished dinner. He also hoped she'd eaten dinner. Third year, she'd neglected herself entirely and he had been a rotten friend to her. So thinking, he grabbed a couple of rolls from a basket, cut them in half lengthwise, and folded over a slice of roast into each one. Then, he wrapped them in the napkin from the empty space opposite him. He wouldn't try for any potatoes or beets, but he could manage a couple of sandwiches for her. Then, he attempted to hide from the discomfort he was still feeling and enjoy dinner with the rest of his House.

* * *

Hermione accepted the offered sandwiches from Harry with a nod, thanking him politely. She was not, however, in any way mollified. The boys had basically ignored her very existence since Tuesday. She had still made what preparations she could for the D.A., as well as revising for the Transfiguration exam and doing her reading for the upcoming Potions essay, but they hadn't even checked in with her about that. She had half a mind to let them go their own way there, as well, but—but defeating Voldemort and triumphing over Umbridge were far more important than her own feelings.

So, basically, Hermione felt prepared—ready, but with an edge of uncertain excitement, as if she were going rock climbing with all the safeties in place but still a thousand feet above sea level—for the exam the next morning. Though she was giving serious thought to waking before dawn and doing a final read-through of all her notes . . .

Ron jogged out of the Common Room and up toward the dorms whilst Harry threw himself into the corner of the sofa she had already sort of claimed. Even the N.E.W.T. level students stayed out of her way when an exam was in the offing; she had earned their respect, over the years.

Just not, apparently, her best mates'. With a harrumph, she unwrapped one sandwich and her Arithmancy text open with a levitation and sticking combination that worked for her mealtime revising.

Harry did that male chin-thing toward her book. "Doesn't look like Transfiguration, 'Mione."

She swallowed. "It's not."

He puffed out a breath. "Ah. Erm. Look, I wanted to, well, apologize. For being a git this week."

She had decided that showing how much their disdain and neglect of both her and their studies had hurt would not be good for her pride. And she needed that. She needed to keep it together. "Yeah, well. You're boys, the pair of you."

"Oi! What's that mean?" He sat up stiffly, leaning a bit away from the cushions. "Just because we aren't as, well, dedicated to overachievement in all our classes . . ."

With an effort, she put on a small smile for him. "No, I know. And it was foolish of me to expect it of you. Just because you have people trying to kill you every year, why waste the effort in excelling, right?"

He felt the edge of her sarcasm, she could see in his visible flinch. "Another good reason to enjoy the days I've got away from, you know, Dementors and Death Eaters."

She nodded, allowing her expression and voice to soften as she agreed with him. "Right. So. I decided to let you learn your own way, you and Ron. And I'll do it my own way and won't try to make you follow any of my revising schedules." She managed another smile. "My week, by the way, has been much more peaceful." Lonely and a bit weird, but peaceful in terms of not dealing with, well, boys and their issues . . .

He appeared taken aback by that, his expression fluctuating through various emotions. "Well, then, that's good, yeah?"

"Are you more relaxed as well?" she inquired, sincerely hoping that slacking off had done him some good. She'd not missed his overall demeanor over the past couple of days, even if neither he nor Ron had met her gaze once.

 _Boys. Why do Lavender and Parvati swoon over them, again?_

"I think it's been a good week, yeah," Harry said slowly, as if tasting his words before saying them. He shot her a look brimming with insecurity. "Look," he murmured, scooting closer to her until she lowered her hand and the accompanying sandwich to the sofa cushion between them. "I'm sorry I didn't get Ron to close his mouth, earlier this week. He was . . . a right git, I know. And you know he never thinks of how his words can . . ."

"Hurt. His words can hurt. I know, Harry." Ron's words had hurt, yes. "The lack of words can hurt as well," she added, staring at him until she knew he understood her.

He blushed, his cheeks darkening so she could see the color in them even by firelight. Still, he was a Gryffindor and he nodded. "I know. I know that's true as well. I am sorry."

With another nod, Hermione felt some of the pain she'd been carrying with her slide away. "All right. I forgive you, Harry. But," she added, shifting about and gathering what things she had, "I'm not helping you—either of you—revise for the exam."

Harry's eyes narrowed, but a smile lurked at the corner of his mouth. "I hadn't asked you to, 'Mione. I'm not stupid."

"Herms!" Ron called, half jogging into the room, parchment, quill, and a textbook in his arms. "So, are we going to revise for McGonagall's exam tomorrow?"

Hermione rose to her feet. " _Professor_ McGonagall. Hmph. Have fun, there, Ron. I'm sure you'll do great. I'm going to wash my hair. G'night, Harry."

"'Night, Hermione."

"Good night, Ron."

"Wait. What?"

As she made her slower-than-normal way back up the stairs, she could hear Ron's honest astonishment that she wasn't helping them and hadn't even left them her notes.

* * *

She finished the exam early, turning in her rolls of parchment with a nod and smile to Professor McGonagall. It was weird, really, after years of acting otherwise. Weird but also rather freeing. Liberating, just a bit.

And, as the weekend passed and she was once again included into the usual conversations and planning for the D.A. and such, her own bitterness dissolved and Ron and Harry behaved about as they always had done.

They even congratulated her on her top marks on the exam, the following week.

And Hermione never again "nagged" them about revising, not for the entire year. It felt odd every time she reflected on it, as she began writing her papers differently, and revising on her own, unless the younger years asked for a bit of a lift now and again.

Perhaps, she reflected later in the spring, after she finally succeeded in casting a corporeal Patronus, she had perhaps been Transfigured in her own mind. She was not responsible for anyone's marks save her own, but she would stand at Harry's side to be as much use to him as she could.

Come what may.

* * *

 _A/N: So, this doesn't put everyone in their best light, here, but fifth year was rough, yeah?_


End file.
